JETT: The Far Shore + _
[ + _ image ]
In the late fall of 2021, JETT: The Far Shore's 2021 ambitious narrative-heavy campaign wound down.
[ tsoultide / khovd / stumble reverently / remembrance ]
It was after the tsoultide, immediately following the hardship and troubles the scouts had to persevere through on gelid Khovd. After some time licking their wounds at Ground Control, the scout marked a ritual of remembrance for the lost Jones before going below decks, to go into torpor.
[ scouts in torpor pic ]
You see, these brave scouts had satisfed all but one of Jao's directives, and there was no further progress to be made given their condition, and with intemperate weather prohibiting further sorties. Protocol dictated the scouts unit should stand down, and await some bright future day.
[ jao and the observers pic ]
Since that time, Jao and the observers aboard The Mother Structure have looked down on the far shore's skittering clouds and endless seas, looking with a keen eye from their low orbit for traces of kolos in the aftermath of Tor's dreadful ignition, and looking for signs of life on Scout's Prospect at Tsosi Massif. The scouts must be in torpor, according to protocol.
[ looking down on planet some flashes type pic? ]
So why then are glints of light are so often seen in the half-light, along the rocky shores of Tsosi Massif? In moments where the intermperate weather thins, these flashes can be observed quite concretely. Their signature evokes that of a jett, with its hops and pops, and that of a brine wisp, with its vivid strobe.
[ a pic of ground control but the grass has grown ]
Jao and her observers have been rendered mute to the ears of the slumbering scouts on the planet's surface down below, who will be snug inside their torpor chambers in the hermitic heart of Ground Control's towers, its bulwharks and buttresses still intact, for years to come.
[ a pic ]
For Jao and her observers, the time since Ground Control went dark has passed fast. From among the thousands of brothers and sisters slumbering in torpor aboard The Mother Structure, a few have arisen to help devise future deployments, helping this haunted people take steps towards putting a root down somewhere. If only Tor's dreadwaves could be understood, and the nature of the wyld and its enigmatic hymnwave invivation could be properly discerned.
[ a pic ]
Meanwhile on Tsosi Massif the seasons have shifted, and shifted again, and inside Ground Control there are new stirrings. With much of Ground Control's machines in hibernation there is a perpetual quiet, broken only by the occasional pad-pad-pad of slippered feet, and a not infrequent the tap-tap-tapping of a teaspoon against the side of a teapot. At other times all is quiet, except the sound of a page turning in a paper book. Late at night, as cosmic orchestra of gloaming and dreadwaves washes over everything, there is the sound of the hymnwave, oscillating with patterns observed by