RETURN JOURNEY

June 25th, 2022 – July 4th, 2022
Something's gone wrong.

On June 25th, the Navarch makes an announcement — not over the CommLinks, but the ship's PA system. It might surprise you to find the ship has a PA system, but her tone is brisk, businesslike.

She announces that the Peregrine is making an emergency landing, on the nearby planet of Pugreo. And in under half an hour, the ship lands heavily — crashes, it might be more accurate to say — in the middle of an abandoned amusement park. Or, well, at least a closed amusement park.

The full OOC write-up for the event is here. If you have any questions about the event, please ask here.




Even if you miss the announcement, you won't miss the alarms. They blare down the halls, lights flickering as the ship reroutes power to its forward shields, bracing for too-quick entry into the atmosphere. The message is clear: find somewhere to hunker down and ready yourself as well as you can for impact.

The ship hits the ground at 8:07 A.M., Peregrine standard time, hard enough to disrupt its built-in gravity and tear through a small shed like paper. The crash indiscriminately bounces wardens and inmates off the floor, along with anything else not nailed down. Anyone in the open-air areas — or, worse, near a hull breach — will find themselves thrown overboard. The rest of you, well, hopefully you find yourself with nothing more serious than some cuts or bruises.

Passengers will exit the ship to find it's already evening on the planet of Pugreo, but the locals who come to investigate are friendly and attentive. A few of them make casual mention of an upcoming holiday and the Peregrine's fortuitous timing, but fail to elaborate on specifics.



All passengers are asked to secure resources and guard the Peregrine, though those with the means to assist in other ways won't be refused. Wardens especially are expected to keep close tabs on inmates; circumstances make it much harder to tell who is or isn't sneaking around.

There are members of the maintenance crew around, investigating the hull breach and organizing bots. While most of them are too busy for conversation, you might be able to catch one of them here.

The amusement park is quiet, almost desolate without a crowd coming and going, and it's recommended everyone travel in pairs. While the locals have been polite and the park mercifully closed in anticipation of the holidays, the Peregrine staff didn't have time to research Pugreo. And without humans as a steady deterrent, there are wild animals to consider.



A day or so after the Peregrine crashes, the Deathbed Blossoms bloom — and the Purge officially begins. The aggression of the locals is sudden, but calculated; the ones who show up in the night, to loot the Peregrine and strip it for parts, are well-practiced and familiar with violence. There is little discrimination in their targets.

Not all of the locals participate in the violence, however — or at least not willingly, under the influence of the Deathbed Blossom's pollen. A few people take refuge in the tunnels or use them to flee the city; some seek out the forest-dwellings, reputedly high enough in the trees that the worst of the pollen doesn't reach them.

The pollen will wear off after a while, so long as you aren't constantly exposed to it. It isn't the worst idea to wrestle the badly affected back aboard the ship or even into solitary, whether they're a warden or inmate. The ship's shields keep out the worst of the pollen...so long as no one contaminates the area some other way.



Finally, the ship is space-worthy and ready for takeoff. It isn't back up to 100% after possible sabotage, but the maintenance crew can at least guarantee it's safe.

This time, Archimedes sends a brief ping to everyone's CommLinks. It's time to get back aboard as quickly as possible, lest you be left behind. And after the mimics, the last thing the Peregrine needs are more stowaways, so you'll want to lose any pursuers — and quickly.

March 9th, 2022
Tasked with picking up some emergency botanical supplies, the Peregrine stopped in Meodriotope in February and is now making haste towards another ship, for a rendezvous and hand-off of the supplies. In late morning, the view out of the windows on one side of the Peregrine will be blocked almost entirely by another ship — the Feather, also from the Admiralty's fleet. The hand-off will take place here, between two ships.

In the afternoon (local Peregrine time), a mini transport from the other ship docks in the Peregrine's loading bay. Three passengers disembark to assist in the loading, have some brief conversations, and then be on their way.

If you have any questions about the event, please ask here.




The Feather is one of the oldest ships in the Admiralty's fleet, a fact that is perhaps less known than intuited, simply by looking at it. While the Peregrine's sleek helices and centre spire move through space like some deep-sea organism, the Feather is a great drifting whale, its broad and boxy body speckled with simple portholes. The sides are painted with murals — abstract swirls of colour, flowers the size of houses, massive birds flitting between them. There's text that must have taken quite the ladder to paint: "Hope is a thing with feathers!" The murals are patchy and worn, but there's a lot of love there.

But despite how massive it is, it floats weightless in space. It comes so close to the Peregrine's side that it almost seems like they could brush, and the ships' respective force-fields thrum as they "merge", blending into one large bubble. In the distance, one can see quite a number of passengers on an outside deck, gathered at the railings to watch. Too far to shout across, but certainly close enough to see tiny limbs waving hello!

In the observatory, the computer monologues:

"The Feather. Currently on the 18th year of its current mission. Current population consists of 295 wardens, 306 inmates, 5 graduates in-transition and 53 supporting staff. Most passengers are from Earth Variants. The Feather is currently headed by Navarch Margaret "Old Lady" Lloyd, a Navarch with 45 years of experience..."



Want to lend a hand? The more the merrier. The crates of Lover's Kiss must be brought to the loading bay, checked and then loaded into the waiting transport ship. Caution is a must; we can't have the flowers crushed or damaged when they're sorely needed for medicines at their final destination.

Helping, of course, are the representatives from the Feather: two wardens and an inmate. (They'll have their own top levels below!)



Passengers identified to the Navarch as having assisted in the gathering efforts will have a delivery bot stop by with a clear plastic container fogged over by steam. The container is warm to the touch, and opening it reveals a lusciously greasy cheeseburger with all the fixings, a mound of thick-cut salted french fries, and the fattest, cheesiest, richest-looking slice of pizza known to mankind. The food is cradled by red food-wrapping sheets with a white PIZZA PLANET logo. Enjoy!

(Or kill someone for a french fry after weeks or months of eating processed food substitutes. You do you.)



So there was that thing the Navarch said — the flowers are fragile and must be handled with care, as they are only useful intact. And sure enough, on the surface of Meodriotope, dutiful flower-pickers had discovered that if you plucked them too roughly, they'd explode, leaving red stains that take weeks to wear off skin, even with dutiful scrubbing. It's been weeks and they're just starting to fade, fortunately, but there's a second phase.

Passengers stained red might discover they're having trouble sleeping. The redder they are, the longer their minds refuse to rest. In severe cases, this results full-blown insomnia. In mild cases, the body may shut down while the mind remains completely alert. These effects could last anywhere between a few days to a full week.

Good luck!