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Description

Rabbit Bowie is © property of Lion Constellation records, 699 Maple Avenue, Zenith (ARIAL)

The passenger ship NSS Angel encountered unknown technical difficulties. The frantic distress messages sent by the crew were oddly unspecific, and made only one thing clear : the end was close – an apparent pessimism that unfortunately could hardly be countered, as the closest ship able to help was located many hours away. Whatever the ordeal they faced was, all was over in thirty minutes. However, there was hope to find survivors if the evacuation to life capsules had been successful. Twelve hours after the last message was emitted, the frigate ASF Averga reached the edge of the expanding sphere of debris formed by the ship's explosion, confirming their fears. They were able to extrapolate from its curve and the average speed of the floating remains, an accurate enough estimate location of the accident. Using this data, they rapidly launched the search for life capsules in coordination with few other ships that had rushed to assist the NSS Angel.

To their surprise, of all twelve capsules they could retrieve, nine were inexplicably empty; two were filled with corpses that autopsy suggested had been dead for considerably longer than twelve hours; the last one contained one single survivor. Plunged in an oxygen-deprived coma, the unknown passenger was on the brink of death and had to be ressuscitated on board the ASF Averga. Even after his recovery, his identification proved impossible; he was completely amnesic. He was adamant, however, about two things : his need to make music (a skill he had to regain if he ever had it, but picked up remarkably fast) and the creeping threat from an infinity of parallel dimensions and a neverending nightmare. Much of what he told journalists during his brief moment of fame as the only survivor of an unfortunate accident, sounded like well-documented, trauma and brain damage-related mental troubles, but some of it sounded more like other topics which may be eons more obscure than psychology and bear wider implications. In short, he came with prophecies.

His music career was launched by a pair of ambitious journalists partnering with a disc label, as well as a mental health charity. Some would suggest that a few of the people involved would come to regret this decision. But for the time being, the money would for sure roll in. The Star Bun was fire. He would tour the galaxy and people would go insane in his trail. Moral authorities, parents associations and a few local governments would sue. What the authorities of the virtuous space rock of Astorias thought they had secured by banning media and fungi imports from Palera, laid in ruins, as a rebellious youth started screaming for star food and lamenting about the coming of the chaos worms. Scenes of violence were reported In Goblestar and Ragus. And the sightings... they filled all kinds of magazines and spread panic on social media. Monsters had been seen kidnapping young concert-goers and dragging them in the shadows. Crime rose everywhere.

Curiously enough, for all the “noise” it was making, the music itself could scarcely be described. They wouldn't go beyond vague evocations of otherwordly sounds putting listeners in a state of trance, not to mention, you could say the varied reactions to the music were far louder than the music itself. A cacophony of emotions mounted in a giant beam of energy, pushing all boundaries. Its catalyst was the singer which was starting to get known as “the magician” or “the star prophet”. He started also getting called the name of every extremist kind dead or alive. This, in the end, they say, is what magic amounts to. It's no different from any other of the devices that push people to act and pull them together. What it taps into, be it tribalism, petty bickering, or the underbelly of the subconscious, or unknown cosmic energy, is secundary in the grand scheme of things.

And thus the Magician would keep going; frantic masses of fans, and angry moralists alike would further fuel the monstrous power that laid dormant and which, simultaneously terrified and grandiose, he served.

It was all planned all along www.deviantart.com/61021376/ar… www.deviantart.com/61021376/ar… lol no it wasn't. Worldbuilding and storytelling is like ogres and onions, it has layers. Take notes when you make a story. There can be things you'll use much later for something better after you've forgotten the initial reason why you made it, and it'll be like two like-minded people brainstorming. The sweet spot.

Description

Rabbit Bowie is © property of Lion Constellation records, 699 Maple Avenue, Zenith (ARIAL)

The passenger ship NSS Angel encountered unknown technical difficulties. The frantic distress messages sent by the crew were oddly unspecific, and made only one thing clear : the end was close – an apparent pessimism that unfortunately could hardly be countered, as the closest ship able to help was located many hours away. Whatever the ordeal they faced was, all was over in thirty minutes. However, there was hope to find survivors if the evacuation to life capsules had been successful. Twelve hours after the last message was emitted, the frigate ASF Averga reached the edge of the expanding sphere of debris formed by the ship's explosion, confirming their fears. They were able to extrapolate from its curve and the average speed of the floating remains, an accurate enough estimate location of the accident. Using this data, they rapidly launched the search for life capsules in coordination with few other ships that had rushed to assist the NSS Angel.

To their surprise, of all twelve capsules they could retrieve, nine were inexplicably empty; two were filled with corpses that autopsy suggested had been dead for considerably longer than twelve hours; the last one contained one single survivor. Plunged in an oxygen-deprived coma, the unknown passenger was on the brink of death and had to be ressuscitated on board the ASF Averga. Even after his recovery, his identification proved impossible; he was completely amnesic. He was adamant, however, about two things : his need to make music (a skill he had to regain if he ever had it, but picked up remarkably fast) and the creeping threat from an infinity of parallel dimensions and a neverending nightmare. Much of what he told journalists during his brief moment of fame as the only survivor of an unfortunate accident, sounded like well-documented, trauma and brain damage-related mental troubles, but some of it sounded more like other topics which may be eons more obscure than psychology and bear wider implications. In short, he came with prophecies.

His music career was launched by a pair of ambitious journalists partnering with a disc label, as well as a mental health charity. Some would suggest that a few of the people involved would come to regret this decision. But for the time being, the money would for sure roll in. The Star Bun was fire. He would tour the galaxy and people would go insane in his trail. Moral authorities, parents associations and a few local governments would sue. What the authorities of the virtuous space rock of Astorias thought they had secured by banning media and fungi imports from Palera, laid in ruins, as a rebellious youth started screaming for star food and lamenting about the coming of the chaos worms. Scenes of violence were reported In Goblestar and Ragus. And the sightings... they filled all kinds of magazines and spread panic on social media. Monsters had been seen kidnapping young concert-goers and dragging them in the shadows. Crime rose everywhere.

Curiously enough, for all the “noise” it was making, the music itself could scarcely be described. They wouldn't go beyond vague evocations of otherwordly sounds putting listeners in a state of trance, not to mention, you could say the varied reactions to the music were far louder than the music itself. A cacophony of emotions mounted in a giant beam of energy, pushing all boundaries. Its catalyst was the singer which was starting to get known as “the magician” or “the star prophet”. He started also getting called the name of every extremist kind dead or alive. This, in the end, they say, is what magic amounts to. It's no different from any other of the devices that push people to act and pull them together. What it taps into, be it tribalism, petty bickering, or the underbelly of the subconscious, or unknown cosmic energy, is secundary in the grand scheme of things.

And thus the Magician would keep going; frantic masses of fans, and angry moralists alike would further fuel the monstrous power that laid dormant and which, simultaneously terrified and grandiose, he served.

It was all planned all along www.deviantart.com/61021376/ar… www.deviantart.com/61021376/ar… lol no it wasn't. Worldbuilding and storytelling is like ogres and onions, it has layers. Take notes when you make a story. There can be things you'll use much later for something better after you've forgotten the initial reason why you made it, and it'll be like two like-minded people brainstorming. The sweet spot.