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Post by Zerathine on Jul 12, 2020 1:24:12 GMT
Foreword: Over the course of the next several weeks, I will be posting "chapters" of my Journey megapost, the project I've been working on for the past 3 months. I poured everything I have into it, so I hope you can enjoy this Journey just as much as I had, and thank you ahead of time for taking the time to read a journey that has meant more to me than any other. Full game spoilers ahead.
Some journeys last minutes, some several hours. Others last days, and still more a lifetime. Back in the days of bustling online forums and Skype bubble notifications, “Journey” offered up a promising friendship that could have lasted years, but glass looks deceptively like crystal until it lays shattered at your feet.
At that point, you have several options: tape the shards back together and potentially watch it shatter again, throw the shards away and brush your hands free of the microscopic filaments, or abandon the shards and squirm occasionally from the paper-cut lacerations that appear in your subconscious at every reminder.
What first began in 2013 ended in 2014 with the unspoken echo of abandonment. Six years ago, I wasn’t a prolific communicator, direct confrontation was out of the question, and I’m not sure if the other person would have been receptive back then anyhow. I thought by leaving it behind, everything would resolve on its own.
The problem with leaving a mess lying around, however, is someday you’re gonna have to clean it up or risk tripping over it.
Six years later, near the end of January this year, I rejoined the Journey community on Discord. Seeing this person’s name again, I tripped over those shards and recoiled in surprise as memories and reservations bled to the surface. The question was, do I cling to my perceived understanding of his character and keep him at a distance, or do I follow the belief that people can change and reevaluate him based on his current and future actions?
Tentatively optimistic, I sent my <wiggles in> message, which became the start of a new journey between us. Little did I know the tenuous acquaintanceship he and I shared in the beginning would cross weave into a solid foundation on which to establish a new, stronger relationship.
First, however, trust needed to be rebuilt, and the path to forgiveness alone crossed a chasm far too vast and far too windy to fly.
So I initially thought.
That first month of my return obliterated that expectation. Our personalities quickly clicked. Reactions I expected him to have in certain situations didn’t happen. Conversation came easily, and I noticed I was smiling with increased frequency. I even had to drudge up our past conflicts to remind and warn me against trusting him fully.
Then, halfway into February, we shared a partial journey together when he sniped me in the Tower. At first I didn’t know it was him, but the length of his scarf (Chapter Select scarf) and his unique playstyle allowed me to solidly identify him by the end of the level.
While I enjoy the fancy flying, the challenges, the tricks that players have concocted in my absence, the day he sniped me, I was yearning for the familiarity of an old Journey player, someone who wasn’t concerned with all of those fancy tricks. He was the perfect companion for the mood I was in, and I later learned he was yearning for the same, too.
During this partial journey in February, I reflected on my perception of his younger self and compared it to what I was witnessing daily on the Journey server. The negative interactions of our past no longer bothered me. My doubts were breaking down. I was becoming more at ease with his presence, had come to greatly enjoy our conversations.
Why, I had forgiven him.
Conflict erupted a couple weeks later from a snipe clash.
Someone else I considered a friend at the time wrongly attacked him and disregarded my feelings on the matter. I refused to stand by and allow this to happen, but because of my involvement, I suddenly found myself at a crossroads asking, “Do I Direct Message this person to ask him if he is doing okay, or do I leave it be and hope for the best? Do I really want to reestablish 1-on-1 contact when our friendship ended so poorly all those years ago? He seems different, seems to have matured, but interacting in public is different from private communication. It could just be a polite front, except that would be difficult to fake, unless—dear lord, Zera, just send the stupid message. You’re asking him if he’s okay, not offering your hand again in friendship, and if communication heads south, you can cut ties like you did before.”
Five minutes before class, my finger hovering over the [Enter] key, taking a deep breath to prepare for the repercussions of my decision, I asked him, “Are you doing okay?”
It seems like such a small gesture, right? Thinner than a thread of spider silk. He’d respond, we’d return to chatting in the comfort of the Journey server, and the rest would be DM history.
I was right.
For a day, until I received an unexpected message from him.
“I’m not sure if I ever got the chance to apologize to you for the way I acted out at times back then, so I’m sorry for anything I said or did that caused any trouble or grief for you. I know it was years ago but still. Kept it in mind all the time since then.”
I was stunned. Uncertain. How do I respond to this? Do I simply tell him I forgive him? Do I say, “It’s okay,” when it really hadn’t been?
No, if we were to truly mend our broken friendship, I would need to express myself in a way I hadn’t since I was a kid, what my jaded young adult self would have scoffed at for being a “weakness,” what not even being a teacher could instill within me. Being honest, offering forgiveness, exercising compassion…those are skills I have been developing for years. What I didn’t expect was for him to be the one to teach me about vulnerability and trust.
As the conflict escalated between me and the aforementioned “friend”, he became a central support pillar for me even though he was no longer a direct part of it, listening to my concerns and worries without judgment while I worked through my approach to the situation. I will be forever grateful for the support I received from everyone during this time, but it was he who helped me the most in weathering it.
Thanks to him, I felt at peace with this trade-off. Even though I lost a friend, I wouldn’t change any of the events that transpired because I could finally accept all of those previously turbulent feelings swirling in the emotional silts of past memories. And let them go.
When I mentioned to him in passing that I wanted to go on a full journey with him someday, it led to us discussing a date and time. We briefly considered the official Journeyversary Event on March 13th, but we both wanted to be true to the philosophy behind Journey and meet a random companion, so we had to settle on another day. However, I didn’t want our full journey to fall on an arbitrary day, so I had to think of a special occasion. Couldn’t be our birthdays, those were still months away.
“Hmm, when was my Journey birthday?” I wondered.
I checked, and to my delight it was on March 24th, which, at the time, was still two and a half weeks away. I was willing to wait as long as Murphy didn’t decide to be a jerk and call upon the power of his Law. There were certainly plenty of potential disasters—I’m looking at you Covid19—but I suggested the date anyway. He said okay.
I jokingly mentioned having him lead our journey as first runs, since under normal circumstances he adamantly refuses to do so, and I would lead a second-run adventure.
To my astonishment, he agreed.
“Wait, really?” I asked.
“Did you want me to lead?”
FFFF, YES???? I wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity like this, are you kidding me? I’m taking it as a scarf promise and running to Mount Jenova with it; you can’t stop me.
Elated at this rare opportunity, I started counting down the days to March 24th.
Our starting time was 9 AM, and you can bet I made sure my coffee was ready and breakfast prepared by then.
An hour passed…then two, and although we had plenty of time left in the day, that couldn’t stop my brain from catastrophizing the situation.
We’re going to have to reschedule…
Did I believe this? No, but that didn’t stop the thought from picking at my brain like anxiety picks at my fingers. The silver lining is that we were still able to chat through DM while we waited for the coast to be clear on starting.
At 11:30 AM, we hopped into Broken Bridge as a couple of 1st run reds.
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Post by Zerathine on Jul 19, 2020 7:20:23 GMT
To improve our chances of connecting, we activated the 2nd bridge span, the ribbon on the eastern side of the bridge, before we signed into our accounts.
I started dive-boosting flyers until I saw a glow manifest on the side of my screen. Curious, I flew over to inspect, and a chirp-fest ensued. Could this companion twirl in place? The answer would tell me if it was him.
Yes, yes, they could. Perfect. Now, to wait and see if he would lead.
When he started flying from the ribbon we’d released toward the first symbol on the opposite side of the bridge tucked within the rocks, I grinned.
Our tandem flying was shaky at first with lots of mid-air pauses and uncertainty, like two companions learning how to fly for the first time.
We bobbed to the next symbol hiding in the cave behind the sandfalls at the far end of the map, activating the ribbons as we went, minus the bridge pieces. Finally, we flew to the last symbol above the sandfall, at the front of which are two rocks protruding from the sand side-by-side. We meditated there momentarily before my companion indicated that he wanted to push me off. I was slow on the uptake, but I eventually understood.
Of course, I then had to reciprocate.
Pushing companions off of cliffs and other ledges has always been a favorite pastime of mine.
We reunited at the bottom of the sandfalls and stood to waddle into the cave behind them so we could meditate at the fir—
...Look at those two lazy goons sleeping during history class.
Once class ended, we sand-surfed to free the last of the flyers underneath the broken segment closest to the beginning of the bridge. We didn’t have any crazy stunts planned for them. No zen jumps or dive-boosts, no chasing games or acrobatics. My companion is simply kind and likes to release all the cloth creatures whenever he can, just like he tries to spare all those pesky turrets in Portal, a gentle and endearing aspect of his personality I’ve always admired.
From the newly freed Flyers fluttering around the broken War Machine segment, we u-turned and flew to activate the penultimate and ultimate bridge segments, saving the ribbon closest to the entrance for last.
As we flew along the completed bridge, we sang a mini-duet, circling and sidewinding our way to the top, where we meditated on opposite columns, our backs to the ancestor statue, and listened to the sand falling in the background. My companion stood and leapt over to my side, hovering in the air as I stood from my meditation. I met him in the middle so we could beam down together, the first of many to come.
Naturally, Broken Bridge wouldn’t be complete without a ride down the conveyor belt. We started off apart—I ahead of my companion by three of the symbols on the cloth—but by the end we were together, my scarf wrapped around him in a true scarf hug.
We slowed to a gradual stop at the base of the ribbon, the sound of the sand falling in the background the only music left in Broken Bridge. Upon standing, we circled around each other up the ribbon, our scarves flying in circles like a pinwheel’s propellers. At the top where the path widens out, we split off to activate the gravestones and watch the history lesson.
At the first opportunity, I darted around to hide behind the Ancestor Statue for a short game of peek-a-boo, which I ended by hoping onto the statue’s head.
Bow down, peasant, for I am the Time Monopolizing Queen of Self-Betrayals, Randominable Dork Dummy Hugging Duo Buddy Zeravochillcado, Vacuum Cleaning Unit, Dream Crusher, Goddess of Fruit, and Decision Making Hero: Reading Minds, Ruining Lives, and Choking on Dreams Since 2020!
It turns out standing on high gets boring after a while and the pedestal of royalty a lonely one. So I did what any sane person would do and leapt down, surrendering my throne to the next person who would come along to claim it.
Besides, I’d much rather stand on the same level as my companion, not looking down at him from above.
The roar of falling sand echoed off the stone walls, but that didn’t stop us from singing another short duet as we sauntered toward the stairs and into the Pink Desert.
A handful of my companions have sung back to me after I have sung to them, but this is the only person I can remember singing a duet with me, and I feel it helps make our journeys together more unique. It’s one of my favorite activities to do with this person because there’s always meaning in the songs I sing. To have someone else share in that experience, to have this person share in the experience, means more than any of you can imagine.
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Post by Zerathine on Jul 26, 2020 11:54:04 GMT
We kicked up sand as we approached the first dune, the sweltering heat rising in a haze around us. The second dune, taller than the first, overlooked a ribbon flowing out from the segment of an inactive War Machine, which we flew along to free Lorelei.
Truthfully, the Pink Desert is one of my least favorite areas to traverse as a red cloak. It’s too open, too empty, too frustrating to trudge through alone as a reddie. It’s much more enjoyable with a companion, even when you both still walk, which was a blessing in disguise this run, ‘cause that helped me be a good follower instead of a flying usurper.
(Don’t tell my companion, but part of the reason I was sidewinding so much was so I’d always be behind him. Shhh. It’ll be our secret. He’ll never know unless you tell him.)
We wove back and forth to the first symbol resting on the colonnades at the eastern side of the map, stopping halfway there to observe Lorelei as it flew parallel to us in the distance. It eventually circled around to give us Carpet hugs. We kicked up sand running the rest of the way to the first symbol and meditated under its starry sparkles.
Meditating...
Meditating…
Nope, Lorelei’s ribbon circling was distracting me too much.
Ah well, you can’t succeed at all meditation sessions.
Maybe the flower would provide the necessary peace I needed to meditate.
“RandomistractionsTM“
His tenacity impressed me. I watched him shimmy forward to sit under the flower, only for his positioning to be marginally off. He stood and repeated the process while I waited and observed.
Occasionally, the Carpets came to play with us, too.
We climbed the sand dune to the west and slid down to the full-bodied War Machine. A large ribbon wavered in the dry air, its crusty snaps audible to those who listened. Our touch freed the five Carpets from within the segmented War Machine and, as is customary, we face-planted to be carried by the Carpets.
Camo Carpets, what will they think of next? It better not be camo War Machines.
Frederick dropped me off at the apex of the dune, and a majority of the Pink Desert proceeded as one might expect, from meditating at the crops glyph to running through the sands to the farming glyph, where the demanding Carpets hugged us fervently.
Patience, you chirping dolphins! We’ll release your friend, but first we’ve got gravestones to dance on top of.
Hmm, you know, I hope the dead have a sense of humor and don’t mind our shenanigans. Perhaps we shouldn’t test our luck.
We leapt down from the gravestones to release the Carpet from its War Machine segment and followed the growing pod of “dolphins” north to the sand crater, at the center of which stood a tower abuzz with Flyers. We slid together down into the center of the crater, circling around the tower to the snapped bridge segment to take the first group of Flyers onto the tower’s winding walkway. The second, larger cloud of Flyers, carried us to the peak of the tower where the symbol awaited collection. My companion faceplanted into it, so I mimicked him.
Someone who speaks to my companion for the first time might consider him a serious individual until they get to know him better, but I’ve been fortunate to witness his more playful side, to see little quirks that endear him to me.
The playfulness continued when he sat at the edge of the tower and allowed me to push him off. I followed after him with a quick faceplant.
I consider landing side-by-side a bonus.
Dutiful Wayfarers that we were, we released the Carpet tucked next to the collapsed building before trekking up the dune behind the building, following the crest to the hollowed-out tower. Along the way, we watched the star circle around the circumference of the wall to the top.
We beamed down above the symbol to collect it and sat to watch the Carpets play tag with one another. We even had a few visit us.
I, uh…may have purposefully wrenched the lead from my companion for a short bit at the top of the final and largest sand dune so I could coast silently against the wind wall with him, since it’s really the only way I can solidly do so with people outside Japan, which is unfortunate because silent coasting is probably my favorite activity, especially in the Sunken City Out of Bounds and Underground Starfield. Alas, I’ll take staring at sand for ten minutes if it means I get to coast that long with a companion.
(We didn’t last ten minutes. This time.)
I didn’t try to push the coast once we fell out of it, since my companion indicated he was ready to continue. We slid down the rest of the dune toward the War Machine production tower. The climb was full of face-planted Carpet rides. We reached the top by crossing the bridge and circumnavigating the War Machine assembly, riding the final carpet to the grate caging the rest of the Carpets.
My companion led me around the side of the building to collect the symbol. Following the wall back to the stairs, we climbed them and split off to activated the gravestones on either side of the Ancestor Statue, reconvening in the middle to enter the light together.
I explained to my companion about my difficulty in coasting with people from other countries post History Lesson and as I did so, I moved so that we were sitting back-to-back instead of side-by-side. I must say, this might be my new favorite meditation method.
Without any prodding from me, my companion flew to the top of the columns behind the ancestor Statue, and together we tried to coast around the Pink Desert. There was one point where we seemed to have it, but as soon as I stopped chirping, I dropped him.
We attempted it a few more times, but none of our passes succeeded. Honestly, I could have kept trying for hours, but I didn’t really want to bore my companion with repeated failures, and I had to be mindful of the time. My internet seems to bottom out around 18:30, and I didn’t want to risk disconnecting from him in Paradise. Wouldn’t that just beat all… So, while I was saddened at the prospect of pressing onward, I knew it was for the best.
Perhaps someday we would succeed…
At least he was kind enough to give Pink Desert a few passes before we rode the freed Carpets into Sunken City.
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Post by Zerathine on Aug 2, 2020 8:15:46 GMT
We sand-surfed through the city ruins, skipping on the tops of arches, collecting the symbol along the way, sidewinding to and through the hall until we burst forth in a spray of sand into the courtyard. Instead of plummeting to the ground, however, we flew to the symbol on the clotheduct, casually attempting a beam-down that I blundered by accidentally collecting the symbol. Oops. Thankfully, we would have plenty of chances later on to beam down, and I made sure to capitalize on the opportunities when they arose.
My companion zen slid off the top of the clotheduct into the courtyard below, and I quickly followed suit, landing next to him instead of halfway across the sand.
Nailed it.
We smothered each other in scarf hugs while we ran to the first ribbon to the left of the courtyard entrance. Circling clockwise, we activated the other ribbons to free all the Carpets and Flyers.
Mission accomplished.
Picking our way through the sand to the smaller group of Flyers buzzing around a jutting cliff, we used them to fly into the holed out alcove where another glyph awaited activation, the only one that allows you to move behind the gravestones to sit.
“Open for business,” my companion said. “Buy one mural get another one for free in today's special discount!”
“We'll even throw in a symbol for our most loyal customers!” I replied.
Our shop wasn’t very successful unfortunately.
However, I learned that this part of the soundtrack is one of my companion’s favorite pieces in the game because of how playful it is. For me personally, I was never a huge fan of the Sunken City music. I don’t think it’ll become one of my favorites, but I can appreciate it more deeply now that I know how much my companion enjoys it. Because it holds meaning for my companion, it’s now important to me, and I am more than okay with this.
We flew over the cloud of Flyers near the exit gate and attempted a beam-down, but one of my chirps activated a small cluster of them, and said cluster wouldn’t stop buoying me thereafter, rendering our beam-down impossible. So, we opted to play in the swarm instead by chirping loudly and immediately sitting to meditate to get the Flyers to carry us as high as we could go and send us careening across the courtyard.
We also climbed to the top of the exit gate and sat on the rightmost column, soaking in the setting sun, eventually shimmying to sit in the middle of the beam to capture a center shot of the mountain in the distance.
I will admit, even though Sunken City’s music doesn’t appeal to me as much as other levels, I do enjoy the many views depending on where you sit or fly. The color palette for the Sunken City is rich with the warm golds, reds, and oranges, which contrasts nicely with the cool colors as you slide into the pit or make your way Out of Bounds. If the Underground wasn’t my favorite area of the game for sentimental reasons, then the Sunken City very well may have topped the list based on sheer beauty.
My companion and I split off from one another to sit on opposite gate columns, one of the few times we separated from each other for the sake of capturing a Kodak picturesque moment.
We reunited on the rightmost column and held a short chirpersation, which I’m 75% certain translates to my companion saying something like, “Sit down so I can push you off the edge.”
“What a beautiful sunset.”
“Go ahead, sit down,” my companion was probably telling me. “Sit. Down.”
“I wonder if I remember how to get Out of Bounds here.”
“Sit down, Zera.”
Huh? Oh, right, okay. I should sit.
Indeed, my companion proceeded to shove me off, but I hit the corner of the overlook on my way down and bounced off somewhere to the side, landing in the sand. I rotated my camera just in time to catch my companion leaping down after me.
“It was all downhill from there. ‘Ey? ‘Eyyyyy?” Downhill all the way to the end of the final corridor and doorway to the pit.
As soon as I arrived, I asked my companion to sit so I could sing to him. Since he didn’t understand me initially, he interrupted my song at first, but he understood what I meant after I had him sit down again.
I wasn’t going to get many chances to sing to him, because the areas I normally would do so are all Out of Bounds, so I had to maximize my chance to do so, even if it meant stealing the lead every so often. I felt it was worth it.
I always finish my songs with a loud chirp, which I use as my signal for my companion. He and I meditated together in the warmth of the sunlight’s final rays, listening to the Carpet chirp as it returned to us. It hovered in the entryway, chirping, beckoning.
I was happy where I was though, sitting with my companion in the strip of golden sand peering out at the molten sun dipping behind the Mountain, its dying light casting rays through the gaps of empty buildings.
We stood and walked toward the Carpet, chirping to each other while edging forward until gravity snatched us and send us careening down the final slide into the crater.
Upon impact with the sunless sand, we initiated another round of scarf hugs and made our way to the sobering glyph of two Wayfarer factions fighting over the cloth that rips between them.
We meditated there in silence.
"Sundering of the Bacon" - Klowny
To dispel the gloominess, we chirped up a storm, winding our way to the History Lesson and covering its golden circle of light with sand. It caught my companion when we entered but not me, and in a panic, I sat to try and activate the Lesson before it could disconnect us from one another.
Thankfully, I made it in time.
To further lighten the mood, my companion and I decided to open up shop here, too.
“Welcome to the black market,” I said.
“We can sell you the best WM parts for no questions asked,” my companion added.
We had to close down shop though because no customers came to visit, not even the Carpets. Rude.
Unable to ignore the tall, gaping doorway any longer, we turned, a circle of lighting illuminating the sand from a beam of light cast through the ceiling beyond the foyer.
The Underground.
A place of heart-crushing, sentimental memories, my favorite area but also one of the most disappointing. Because I almost always finish it alone.
“Oh, Zera, look at this cute little companion you have. Aww, you’ve been with them since Broken Bridge? That’s adorable. Hey, guess what?”
Dust.
“Awww, you wanna take your companion back to the starfield post-history lesson? Haha, nah.”
Dust.
“Playing with the War Machines with a companion, are you? You really shouldn’t be doing that.”
Dust.
There’s a heart-shattering clench I feel in my chest every time I see a companion dust in the Underground, the worst instances occurring when it feels like we’ll finish the level together but don’t. This happens so frequently it pushes me closer to despondency every time, especially with companions I have traveled with since the beginning.
I just want to complete the level without losing my companion…
Once, in the Journey Discord server, I said in passing how I seem to always travel through the Underground alone, not in a way to really draw attention to it but more as an observation. Regardless, my companion remembered this.
“We're going to make sure…we get through the whole UG, disconnections or not,” he told me several days before my Journeyversary. It was especially touching because I know how much he hates disconnecting from other companions if he meets them. “This is a special case. I'll do it here.”
Maybe we’d get lucky this time and successfully make it through without a single disconnect. Maybe, just maybe…
Feeling apprehensively hopeful, we passed through the doorway and entered the Underground.
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Post by Zerathine on Aug 9, 2020 3:25:36 GMT
What about this area makes it my favorite? Excluding the Out of Bounds Starfield, I love the depth of the cool color palette used for the sand and the tonal shift. The stark contrast in atmosphere from Sunken City, the muffled echo of chirps, the underwater aesthetic in both the level design and the music, the jump scare of the first War Machine bursting forth from the sand. It is the first scripted point of “conflict” you experience in the game and also a payoff to the setup of various War Machine segments scattered across the surface. It is a sublime level.
So, what better way to enter it than to wiggle-chirp as loudly as possible? Why, we did so well, we reached enlightenment as soon as we sat to meditate.
It wasn’t the LSanD, I promise.
Enlightenment.
Hehehehe, inside jokes.
They're the best.
We stood and slid out of Enlightenment to play in the trickling sand falls, shaking our heads to dislodge the excess granules on our cloaks. We also planked on some rocks like a couple of dorks, because why not.
We flew up to meditate for a time on the ruined colonnades, then jumped down to wander through the pipes, where my companion discovered that the chirp sounds different. I love noticing new sounds to appreciate, and I’ll need to remember at some point to return there after the music stops to listen to it more carefully, but it really does sound like someone is trying to chirp or speak through a metal pipe. It was a nice find on my companion’s part.
We flew over the parallel clotheducts to the one jutting up from the ground, plopping onto the pipe it was leaning against. Well, I technically derped my landing and fell off the edge while my companion nailed it, but details, amiryt?
After collecting the symbol from inside the pipe, we face-planted out of the clotheduct and, upon standing, smothered each other in a plethora of scarf hugs. So many scarf hugs. Anytime we stood from a faceplant, whenever the fancy struck us, it didn’t matter when, we would circle each other until our scarves twisted into knots.
At the crest of the sandbank, my companion and I meditated, looking out at the Kelp ribbons growing out of the clotheducts stretching across support columns, the Flyers circling around like schools of fish. When my companion stood, I stood with him, but he moved behind me and waited for several seconds, a silent indication he wanted to push me down the hill. Interesting, that. I can’t say I’ve ever had anyone express a desire to push me down this dune before, so I sat, curious, and let him do so. He got me about three-quarters of the way down the hill, just below the right clotheduct protruding from the sand, before he, too, sat next to me.
He was really coming out of his shell, displaying a more whimsical, playful side that not many people get to see.
When we stood, he went to collect the symbol inside the clotheduct while I used the flyers to land on the other side of the wired mesh gate. There wasn’t much room to face-plant, but I managed it, and he did the same from the opposite side.
Of course, we reversed roles as well so that I could collect the symbol, too.
We chirped and twirled around each other through the thick atmosphere, passing the threshold of a large doorway into a scene straight from a Ghibli movie, with giant Kelp ribbons flowing in the heavy air currents and four large Jellyfish bobbing as they hovered near the Kelp. We “swam” into and up the Kelp, tickling the Jellies on our way to collect the symbol from the highest one. Landing together at the far door, we wove around each other to the edge of the bowed floor, leaping down into the lower level tunnel, since a cave-in blocked all access above.
We approached Lorelei purring chirps in the distance, the stifling silence broken by cranking gears and gas hissing out of the vents. Through the windows in the short corridor, the empty faces of rotating Machines stared back at us, and at the end where it opened up into the larger cavern, the faceplate of a broken machine flickered green.
A Guardian awaited us, its wings folded, its spine stacked like a viper ready to strike. At its base, half-buried in the sand, slept another.
It woke up.
In a sudden spray of sand, rock, and Carpet threads, the War Machine snapped up. It coiled back to catapult toward the distant ceiling, its mechanical cries resounding in its empty place.
Chirping, my companion and I took a detour to the farthest row of War Machine statues to the right of the narrow corridor, sitting on the head of the one closest to the wall to properly lament our fallen Carpet friend.
From the other side of the wall we listened to the mechanical whir and lulling purr of the activated War Machine, a soothing, melancholic song for a creature of destruction.
The War Machines…they never really frightened me. Even during my first Journey, which I played offline, I recognized setups when I saw them, and the game sets up the jumpscare rather obviously: the quieting of the music while the mechanical sounds come to the forefront; the eerie green flickering; the shifting camera as Lorelei floats closer to the statue. Not subtle at all.
My companion’s stand broke me from my reminiscing. He and I tandem flew into the hall to a spot where the light infused our cloaks with a deeply saturated red, which gradated through several hues by the time our feet touched the ground. Meanwhile, the silent Guardian’s empty expression loomed over us.
We ventured around the corner at the same time the newly awakened War Machine hissed by the window. This may have spooked others, but my companion and I waggled like a couple of dorks into the arch of light framed by the glass, pivoting around the second corner to reach the end of the hall and another open doorway, this one smaller. It opened up into another spacious cavern, columns evenly spaced to support the unseen ceiling.
The War Machine glided unimpeded into view, its movement fluid and effortless as it snaked around, its blue searchlight landing on the school of Golden Flyers flitting around in the center of the cavern’s first partition. The light flared red, and particles of sand billowed out, the War Machine arching back to center in on its prey, armored faceplate sliding over the searchlight before it struck, shredding the Flyers into golden threads. The War Machine retreated into the cover of darkness, waiting.
Hugging the left wall, we turned around that first corner to activate the glyph. We derped around there for a bit, perching again on the gravestones and wiggle-dancing on them. When I fell off mine, I sauntered over to my companion’s and jumped onto his to push him off, but to my surprise, we fused into a creature of terrible, unfathomable power: The Ultimate God of Scarves.
Fear us, peons! Muwahahaha—
Oop, we fell off. Ah well.
Our fusion broken, I followed my companion over to where the War Machine had murdered the Flyers. When my companion chirped, he was suddenly hoisted up into the air without my aid and without losing charge on his scarf.
“How are yours still there!?” I asked, since we didn’t actively save the Flyers.
He didn’t know either. He chirped a few more times and was launched into the air, flying around while I watched, Flyer-less. A few more chirps held him hovering, and when he finally landed next to me, he sat to meditate, most likely to listen to the sound of his Fly--
He dusted. Like a snuffed out flame invites the darkness, my evaporated joy invited chagrin. It’s painful enough when random companions I’ve been with from Broken Bridge dust in the Underground, let alone the companion I had intentionally chosen to travel with me on my Journeyversary. I really should’ve expected it, but I was blindsided by its suddenness.
“What’s a disconnect or two?” you may ask. Perhaps if I completed runs often with the same companion from start to finish it wouldn’t be so bad, but of the dozens of Journeys I’ve been on since my return, only a small handful have been with the same person, and even fewer without a disconnect in the Underground.
My chest ached, and the pain was clinching tighter around my heart. All I wanted was to successfully finish together in one go. We were so close to the end of the Underground. It simply wasn’t fair.
“My suggestion would be to restart the game (so we'll start from the beginning of the UG),” my companion said, “and go through it as fast as we can, at least up to that point.”
Go through it as fast as we can…
I didn’t want to hurry. I wanted to relish these journeys. I wanted to keep the pace we were going…. It felt like doing anything but would deprive me of the experience I wanted, that rushing would defeat the whole purpose of savoring the moment. Curse the Underground for severing our connection.
How many more would we suffer before one of us suggested we reconnect at the Tower?
It sounds like a petty concern compared to everything else that’s been happening in the world, but for these two days these journeys mattered to me more than anything. Just once…
Heaving a resigned sigh, I restarted the level and waited…
…and waited…
…hopping offline and back on every 30 seconds or so…
…connecting with randoms, one after another.
“Ran into another random,” my companion said.
I felt awful.
Not only was I depriving people of potential companions but I was also the reason my own companion had to disconnect from them. I never should have mentioned this disconnection problem in the server because then we likely would have continued on to the Tower, and I would be the only one with the bleeding heart.
“I’m sorry…”
“Nothing to apologize for,” he assured me. “I just wish PS4’s connections weren’t so buggy like this.”
I appreciated the reassurance, but I didn’t feel any better. Maybe the Tower would be a better place to reconvene after all. Going through the Underground alone wasn’t that big of a deal in the grand scheme of the journey. I was simply making a bigger fuss of this than I needed to…
I decided. If, after the next few attempts we failed, I would suggest we travel offline to the Tower.
It would be better that way.
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Post by Zerathine on Aug 16, 2020 12:02:32 GMT
“I’m gonna try re-entering the level again,” he said, “Maybe it prioritizes them.”
“Okay.”
Trudging back and forth between the entrance and the first rock jutting out of the sand, catching another handful of glows from random companions I had connected with, my heart sank.
Another glow faded in from the entrance when I was waddling up the sand dune to the circular patch of white light. I couldn’t fly because I had already rage-used my scarf to depletion, so I hoofed it the normal way, meeting my companion as they finished entering the level, trying to shift the camera to catch a glimpse of their sym—YES! Blessed Mt. Jenova, we succeeded.
“The poor connections tried to keep Zera and [redacted] from continuing,” my companion said, “But it refused.”
I almost started crying from the sudden deluge of relief. All we had to do now was get through the Underground without another disconnect, but we meditated again for a few minutes back-to-back while I calmed down and we exchanged messages.
Many times the pain and sorrow we experience in life become setups for learning how to appreciate and treasure the joy we experience in between.
When I was ready, we stood, and even though we wound up running through the Underground faster than I wanted, I couldn’t really blame my companion for doing so. I myself was a bit paranoid about the prospect of another disconnect. I just hate that the previous one forced us to alter our behavior. Whereas we’d been walking for a majority of the journey before the disconnect, we ended up flying through the Underground, recollecting the symbols and reactivating the glyph as we went.
We perched on a lifeless statue where the second War Machine patrols around the clotheduct after activating. On the first pass, my companion and I flew into and bounced off of it. He went flying toward safety. I struck the statue and landed in the middle of the War Machine’s patrol path.
I hurried to stand and slogged toward the stone War Machine my companion and I had perched on before. The War Machine’s light swung around.
Go go go go. If the light looped around again, it would sweep right over me. I couldn’t let this happen because if I got hit, then my companion would most likely fly into the War Machine’s path, too, even though he hates getting chomped.
I went from a lumber to a walk, but still I couldn’t fly. The light started changing directions, the War Machine’s purr and mechanical clicking resounding overhead. Feet sinking into the sand, I climbed up the bank as the light swung toward me. With a single flap of my cloak, I dove behind the stone machine as my companion loosed a loud chirp. The War Machine’s light swept over the stone, but I was safe.
My companion led us up the hill a little, out of the War Machine’s path. We loped to the window farthest left, flying through it to the final partition of this cavern. Playing it safe, we crept behind the pillars, three-quarters of the way up the sand hill until we reached the broken balustrade buried in the sand.
Sidewinding our way to the final corridor, we paused. The two War Machines wove up and down along the hill, their light washing over the sand in search of us.
“What say you?” I chirped to my companion.
“Shall we?”
“Let’s go~”
We inched forward, hopping off the threshold to tease the poor brutes. Well. I decided to tease them. Don’t poke the War machine? I’mma do it, and I’mma cackle the whole time I’m running away, hehehe.
The barrier flared up at our approach, repelling the machines, one flying off toward the ceiling, the other…derping off into the sand and through a wall.
Safe from the threat for the time being, we scarf-hugged each other like a couple of wartime survivors, sand billowing out onto the solid floor, covering the glowing symbols.
Once we calmed down, we sauntered over to pay a visit to Gary and Larry.
Missed scarf heart opportunities 0/10. I stood and plopped down next to my companion for no other reason except to be closer to him.
Our visit to Gary and Larry reminded me of a conversation we had about them. How many players continue to visit these two scarf friends? How many know of their existence? They’re tucked away in the shadow outside of the Tower’s vestibule-esque entrance, discovered only by those curious cats, like my companion, who explore every nook and cranny and pass along the information to future companions.
For me, stopping by to say, “Hi,” to Gary and Larry was never an imperative. I would often lead companions over there for a visit, but just as often I would pass them by without a backwards glance. On future journeys I take with this person, I will strive to always take a few minutes to greet them, because of the story he described to me of one of the few times he wrenched the lead from his companion to bring them over to visit the scarf friends.
We stood to return to the protection of the Barrier and to meditate on lanterns reminiscent of the Japanese tōrō, which were traditionally placed outside of shrines and temples. A befitting spot for them, if I do say so myself.
“My bum’s on fiiiire. Get me some waaaater.” My companion and I reunited in front of the Ancestor statue for another round of scarf hugs, separating again to light the grave markers and enter the light together.
Three lanterns hang suspended in the transitioning hallway, but what many people may not notice is the fourth lantern hanging from the portico’s ceiling just inside bounds. My companion made the flight up there and the perch look easy, but I had difficulty busting through the invisible ceiling that keeps me from flying higher. I tried to slow boost a couple times to reach it, since I felt confident in my ability to do so.
I failed. The first failure, my companion was able to recharge my scarf through chirps to keep me afloat, but the second time I flopped so hard, I fell to the ground, scarf drained. My companion leapt down after me to recharge my scarf.
Neither of us are the type to give up, so we tried again. He still landed on the lamp before me while I floundered about in the air, but inch-by-inch I crept closer to the metal plate until my feet touched down on it.
Success.
Ahh, Journey ASMR.
The lanterns alone emit a droning hum that anyone can listen to if they manage to stick the landing without a companion. It’s highly meditative and good for focus if it doesn’t lull the listener into sleep, but combine this drone with the higher one of two companions touching, and you’ve got yourself a free session of head tingles.
To complete the experience, we beamed down from the lantern.
As soon as we touched down, we celebrated with yet more scarf hugs as we made our cheery way to the Tower.
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Post by Zerathine on Aug 24, 2020 8:48:52 GMT
The top of the Tower looks so far away from the sandy bottom, far enough that my companion needed a moment to prepare. We hopped up onto the right dais and sat.
“Brb,” my companion said.
Oh what a perfect opportunity. Hehehehe…
I was hoping to finish pushing him to the gate and start meditating next to him before he returned but failed. Caught red-handed. However, he let me continue pushing him anyway to the end.
Had I started pushing him sooner instead of trying to get screensaver screenshots, I likely would have gotten him to the gate before he got back, but oh well, at least I provided him some free entertainment. I sat and meditated next to him afterward, my scarf alive and bouncing around for the whole duration like a thing possessed.
“When there’s something strange in the neighborhood, who you gonna call?”
We wove around each other through the hallway again, our scarves flowing behind us in a continuous S all the way to the first set of gravestones, where we watched the mural fill with light up from the bottom.
Glittering golden GOO filled the circular room, releasing the flyers from the buttresses, where they spread out to the various metal platforms protruding out from the wall with sturdy, latticed beams. We swam to the first platform and used the flyers to collect the symbol atop one of the central structure’s buttresses, from there flyer hopping clockwise from platform to platform around until we reached the second mural. I think this is my favorite level to activate, but I’ll explain why at a more relevant time.
The GOO rose, releasing the Carpets from captivity in the center tower while Jelly Ribbons materialized in an upward spiral. We played with them, listening to their tickled, “Boolooloolooloooo”s.
Like a couple of scarf-hugging addicts, we circled around and around each other as we cut through the middle of the tower to the second set of jellies, flying through tentacles and oral arms to the rising platform and the third mural.
As the Tower continued to fill with GOO, we woke my companion’s arch nemesis from its slumber, watching it emerge from its room as it loosed a loud, echoing chirp. Instead of swimming over to the whale immediately, however, we detoured to the parlor above the foyer to collect the symbol.
Ah, good, he remembered.
I figured he would, since he enjoys collecting all of the symbols, but one never knows! Sometimes you just simply forget to do something, even if the habit has been ingrained in you.
Since the whale room was unoccupied, we swam over to it, activating the glyph on its dais while we floated in front of it, chirping at the depiction of all the dead and inappropriately dancing in front of the somber image. We tried to float-perch on the gravestones as well, but I constantly slid off and eventually gave up.
My companion led me to the symbol hidden behind the ribbon curtains. Above the symbol, on the circular walkway from which the ribbons hang, we meditated to appreciate the view.
The Law of Diminishing Returns. When you’re accustomed to dry climbing the Tower or you’ve played through with the risen GOO so many times, the awe and wonder eventually peals away. The motion becomes redundant, automatic, bland…Aside from the companionship, that’s when many long-time players will retire from the game.
Love is in appreciating the little things, whether it pertains to a game or to a person.
The glow of the GOO-lit ribbons was a detail I had forgotten about, since I almost exclusively come to this room when the whale is still sleeping above, and most of my vanilla runs are with companions who are still in the surface-level awe-inspired phase of the game. It was a treat to be able to revisit this room from a vanilla-run perspective with a more advanced player who enjoys meditating in all the places.
We stood and leapt back into the GOO, swimming out of rotunda to catch a ride on my companion’s arch nemesis: the Whale. We rode it past the mural and flailed off of it at its apex to fly back to the central tower to collect the final symbol.
Huh, I wonder if he knows about this particular symbol.
I paused nearby to observe what he would do next, grinning as he sauntered into the symbol.
Perfect.
I couldn’t wait to show him a neat trick concerning this symbol the next time around.
Returning to the Whale, we rode it to the penultimate mural of the Broken Bridge, and disembarked to light the pair of gravestones on either side. Suspended on chains was the final set of stone ring platforms, the iron latticework filling the hollow the same as the mesh lining the inside of the War Machine filter vents. Flyers flew out from the central pillar to construct a bridge for us that spiraled upward from platform to platform, signaled by a tuning-fork chime and the lighting of the bulb beneath each one.
We attempted a short beam-down on the final platform, but the flyers made the attempt more work than it was worth. Collectively giving up, we scarf-hugged several times and lit the gravestones. Once the GOO filled the Tower completely, we swam in scarf-hug circles several more times, then descended once more to the rotunda to greet the fl0w creature swimming around. Of the two, this one receives fewer visits, so I’m glad my companion brought us here instead of the one on the first level, and I’ve always loved how the deeper sound of this creature differs from the smaller one.
We ascended the GOO to the broken stairs, waddling up them as if to activate the History Lesson gravestones, but my companion suddenly veered off to the side and sat down on the incline partly in the GOO. He stood, which I understood as a cue to sit. He wasn’t able to do what he had planned, but it was still a good meditation spot.
We circumnavigated the upper level instead of flying onto it, arriving back at the bottom of the stairs, which we then climbed. Veering off from one another to light opposite sides of the History Lesson gravestones, we looped around the last one and returned to the top of the stairs so we could enter the light together.
Slowly, pensively, my companion and I stood and walked along the bridge to exit into the harshest level of all: Snow.Attachments:
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Post by Zerathine on Aug 31, 2020 9:16:56 GMT
As a player, I loathe this level. As a writer, it’s brilliant. It’s the final trial. It’s meant to be a struggle. It’s meant to beat and batter you. If it was easy, the death, revival, alightment at the Mountain’s summit wouldn’t have that same impact that reduces so many of us to tears. Journey would be reduced to a fun walking simulator, bereft of the empathy that tethers us together. Imagine your cute little first run companion getting slammed by War Machines and sent sprawling into a snowdrift, or the lonely climb up to the heater room whereupon you see the faintest glow of hope in the distance as a companion chirps to thaw the frozen Ribbon, or the despair as a Journey-long companion that has been with you from the Broken Bridge to the Death March unexpectedly sits down and dusts.
Beginning to end, suffering together even when apart, especially through Snow when you’re stripped of flight and the warmth of the desert, when the whirring clicks of the War Machines echo around you in those safe cubbies and the patrol light sweeps around looking for a target, when you’re left cold and ducking through the wind up the balcony, spotting a flickering candle of a distant companion tumbling in the Death March’s blizzard is an experience we have all shared.
Even though it sucks in the moment, we need to struggle to fully appreciate happiness.
My companion and I chirped to warm the other up and scarf-hugged each other into a pile of cloth. Still chirping, we trudged through the snow to each of the fallen Carpets, singing to them to temporarily melt the ice. Our chirps continued as we entered the Windy Canyon, walking instead of flying through it to the other side.
The wind was howling the whole time.
Breaking past the crevice, we clomped uphill, passing a cluster of gravestones to a War Machine segment protecting a scared Carpet from the cold. We coerced it out with our chirps, but it quickly dove into another nearby segment, from which it refused to budge no matter how many times we chirped at it. Defeated, we plodded onward. We heard the War Machine’s second cry before it swept up over the crag, bypassing us on its way to the snow fields.
Following the left cliff wall onto a wide ledge, the area to our right opened up to the wind and a clear view of where we had started. We split off from one another to climb the stairs, switching sides after the first rock, and finished climbing parallel to one another, all the while chirping to keep our scarves full. It then became a walking race to the heater room, the final place of warmth.
“Flyers, the unintentional antagonist of the Heater Room.” Music playing in the background, the lamp’s humming drone as a backdrop, we sat here for a while to appreciate the Flyers and to savor each other’s company.
Sufficiently toasted warm, we stood and chirped for the Flyers to launch us to the upper alcove and a glyph of the war.
It’s funny how the meaning of an object or a single moment can change when stronger associations connect to it.
You see, when my companion and I first journeyed together upon my return to the Journey community, this was the point where revelation struck me like a judge’s gavel, and now I think about it every time I activate this glyph, whether I’m with said companion or someone else entirely.
For those who may not remember, the glyph reveals the balcony leading to the final gate and the Death March. Above, two War Machines are locked onto each other, three ancestors riding each respectively at the pinnacle of conflict.
Two factions prepared to tear each other apart for the sake of selfish gain.
Two companions, presumably descendants—from opposing factions maybe—witnessing the mistakes made in the past and accepting what had happened so they can move forward.
Past and present.
War and its aftermath.
A turbulent history.
A hopeful present.
All I know is, whatever else may come, my companion and I would be facing it together.
Unable to help myself, and because I was starting to feel sentimental, I preemptively gave my companion a few rounds of scarf hugs before he had the chance to join.
I followed him to the edge of the alcove and was confused at first when he sat down. I sat next to him, whereupon he stood and pushed me off the ledge.
Heh, I wasn’t expecting that.
It was like he was reading my mind at this moment, when we started running in opposite circles around the lamp, listening to it hum in the absence of music.
We left the heater room, sidewinding our way to the bridge, chirping to lower the ribbon so we could cross the gap. When I started dancing along it, my companion did the same, wiggling to wipe the snow off the ribbon. A temporary solution, unfortunately.
Beyond the bridge we entered the first patrol field, hugged the left wall to avoid the War Machine as it whipped around with its sweeping gaze.
By hugging the left wall, we arrived at a hidden ice cavern where the final glyph in the game sits tucked away for rediscovery.
The War Machine’s cries resonated off the cave walls as we sat here reflecting on the Ancestor’s ascent to the Mountain.
When my companion stood, he led us out of the cave and back out into the patrol field. We continued following along the western cliff, very nearly getting caught in the War Machine’s searchlight a few times, including at the gate. A few close encounters, but we made it through safely in the end. My companion is a pro at navigating the patrol field; I always tend to get caught by the War Machine’s light if I try to follow the left wall.
Squeezing through the crevice as snowy Carpets flew above us, we entered the courtyard, bee-lining to the windows to watch the War Machine fly past before making our way up the kelp ribbons and through another crag into a hall that would open out onto the windy balcony.
I failed to make it to the rock past the first S turn, and my companion failed to climb the stairs. We made a mad dash for the ribbon bridge, but I got blasted by the wind and was pushed back through the gap to the lower path. Even though he had crossed it successfully, my companion leapt down after me.
Once up top again, we entered the final gate into the Death March.
We tripped and plopped repeatedly into the snowdrifts as the wind howled around us. Lightning flashed over the mountain, thunder cracking through the dry air. The wind eventually calmed, but the temperature dropped, and the snow clung to our cloaks until we could barely walk. We chirped encouragement, but our steps slowed, and as the mountain disappeared, they stopped completely.
We fell.
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Post by Zerathine on Sept 6, 2020 0:32:09 GMT
The silence of death fell over us like a shroud, the wind muffled, the cold seeping away to numbness, the symbols of our lives flickering, fading. The roaring wind, the crying War Machine, all sound had faded to silence, and then there was a trickle of warmth suffusing our bodies, filling us with enough life and power to propel us forward through the maelstrom and the dance of the two War Machines until we burst forth from the eye of the storm into Paradise.
We entered Paradise with the full, loud chirps of the resurrected, tandem flying to each pillar of Flyers and using them to reach the first gate, atop which we meditated and performed a beautiful beam-down.
We fell out of the first one three-quarters of the way to the ground and had to perform another one just to make sure we successfully touched down. When we did, we initiated our scarf hug ritual, then wound our way along the bridge, back and forth in a double-helix to the second gate. Again we flew to the top to meditate, the mountain peak peeking up over the nearest mountain range.
We beamed down at each of the gates, a difficult feat, but my companion and I were filled with determination.
The second beam-down we had just as much difficulty aligning ourselves properly, if not more, but we eventually got it to stick, and this time neither of us dropped out of it.
We smothered each other in scarf hugs and chirped all the way down the slide, crisscrossing like two professional choreographers until we reached the Kelp.
Climbing up along the Kelp ribbons, we followed the flow of the water underneath the falls and into the jelly pools, my companion taking charge and leading us through the jellyfish bloom.
Knowing where we were headed immediately after, my companion and I nearly beamed up to the penultimate gate to meditate, the Carpets ahead leaping over the falls, the Whales swimming in circles, waiting to give us our ride to the end.
Each round of scarf hugs felt more sentimental than the last as we drew closer to the end of our journey.
We flew up the first waterfall to greet the first whale, but instead of accepting its invitation for a ride, I decided to shove my companion into the water instead, following afterward with a zen jump and landing close to him.
Watching the Whale swim about is just as meditative as listening to a companion’s hum after the music has faded in the Underground. I could meditate in these areas forever, especially so if I have a companion willing to do so, someone willing to keep me company through a rough day by spending hours meditating in the Underground starfield.
But that’s a post for another time.
We returned to the rock from which I pushed my companion to listen to the falls and the Whales’ calls.
We half-rode the whale, half-climbed the final Kelp ribbons up to the final gate where, you guessed it, we performed one final beamdown into the pool.
The beam-downs could be frustrating at times because of how difficult it was to initiate them, but it was always well worth the struggle.
Landing in the pool, we synchronized scarf-hugged, then flew through the final gate, triggering the climax of Apotheosis and listening to the music fade to the silence of Paradise sounds. My companion knows me very well, knows how much I love the sound of the Whales chirping through the water, the trickle of the pools as they overflow into waterfalls.
We returned to the Whales, and this time my companion reciprocated the push, following after me so we could once again listen to them sing while watching the Carpets ascend the waterfalls.
We followed the carpets back up to the summit of the pools, but before we flew up to the Mountain, we made sure to take a dip in the water here, too.
There are other sounds in Paradise that I love to listen to, but these are the primary ones I will relish if time is of the essence, and I’m thankful my companion thought to gift me with these precious sounds.
It was time.
We stood from our faceplant, walked through the final gate…and ascended up to the mountain.
But I wasn’t about to let my companion get away without listening to another song. So I made him sit, and I improvised for him, hoping to capture at least some of the gratitude I felt for his offer to not only Journey with me but to lead our first journey together.
Unfortunately, my video borked, and I lost both the song and the following heart-melting moment, something I’d secretly been hoping he’d do for me from the time he first sniped me.
In the snow, he wrote my name: Zera.
Racked with emotion, I did the same with his, but I was so caught up in this gesture, I forgot to take a screenshot. It hurts to think about, but I’m at least grateful for the memory.
Sidewinding our way to the final crevice, our walk slowing to a shimmy, we paused before the light for a final shared breath.
When traveling with a companion, you get a sense of their personality as you progress through the game together, and for me, these precious hours of witnessing a more playful side from someone who exclusively follows was worth the entire journey and more. This is a Journeyversary I will forever treasure. The best part?
We weren’t even finished.
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Post by Zerathine on Sept 13, 2020 8:26:31 GMT
Originally, we had planned to do two Journeys in one day: the first he would lead, the second I would, but even if we had started on time, I don’t think I would have trusted my internet to support another run through the game when this one had already lasted 6 hours. So, we decided to save the second journey for the next day, which worked out perfectly because while it was my official Journeyversary date in Japan-land, it was still the 23rd in the States. This way we’d be traveling on my real Journeyversary, and I’d get the full experience instead of feeling like I’d need to rush.
March 25th, 9:00 AM, we activated the second bridge span and signed into PSN together.
I sat on the War Machine’s head for a few minutes, waiting, but no glow. So, I started dive boosting Flyers, resetting the connection every so often to try and meet my companion.
About 4 minutes in, we finally connected with one another, and the first thing we did as our greeting?
Scarf hugs. All the scarf hugs. Followed by twirling in place and even more scarf hugs.
I was still on the Journey Feels Coaster from the previous day, so I maximized on every opportunity given me to scarfhug my companion.
With me in the lead, we tandem flew to the first symbol and collected it in another bout of scarf hugs.
Eager to derp around like the total dork I am, I circled behind the rock cluster with my companion following in my sandy wake, stopping at the pair of rocks protruding from the sand.
With a few chirps and a gestural sit, I instructed my companion to do the same. He plopped down in the smaller rock, so I circled around him to push him to the bigger one, grinning as I worked to position him until only his head poked out of the rock.
Standing, we initiated another round of scarf hugs and wound our way to the first of the smaller ribbons sticking out of the War Machine segments, releasing the Flyers from captivity as we had for our first run, chirping softly.
A quirk of mine my companion would later tell me about is my tendency to stand in a single spot and chirp. I was aware that I did this because I used to do so purposefully, but it had become such a habit, I didn’t realize how often I chirped.
We walked to the second, smaller ribbon near the two larger ones, climbing up rocks and War Machine segments to free the Flyers. The Flyers launched my companion and I into the air when we chirped, and we gracefully twirled back onto the segment in a partial beam-down.
Flying and collecting the symbol, we exited the cave in a slide, back-tracking to the nearest cluster of rocks to release the next school of Flyers. I first tried to faceplant onto the ribbon, but when that didn’t work, my companion tried to zen jump onto it instead. PogChamping at his cleverness, I stood from my faceplant, careful not to light up the rest of the ribbon, since I was at its base, and sauntered onto the rock again to try my companion’s method. I overshot it the first time but succeed on my second, my companion chilling on the segment as Flyers raced around him.
I flew to join him.
I’m a sucker for a good, unplanned scarf hug.
We stood and flew over to the twin ribbons between the penultimate and final bridge segments, and this, chirpers of all genders and orientations, is where our beam-down adventure truly took off.
Why, we performed so many this run, I needed to start counting our successes.
While our first beam-down succeeded, our ribbon-dusting didn’t. Oops. I flew along it quickly to free the Flyers. We’ll just pretend the beam-down worked as it should have.
Beam-down #2 happened right over the other twin ribbon, which caught us and released the Flyers.
Just like in that first Journey, our tandem flying to each of the ribbons, including the next one, was shaky, timid. I was no longer accustomed to leading companions around, and somehow I have become more indecisive over the years, but the wonderful thing about Journey is watching how your comfort grows the longer you remain with a companion, until you’re both displaying portions of your personality that might have been kept in check earlier.
My scarf ran out of charge before we could align ourselves for the beam-down, so I fell onto the ribbon, activating it before my companion’s chirp could stop me.
Oops.
We collected the symbol, scarf-hugged some more, and I pushed my companion off the sandfalls, just as he had on our first journey together. I tried to follow.
I’ve got sand in my cloak!
Standing, I flapped my cloak to shake off the excess sand and tried again, this time angling the faceplant just right so I slid to a halt near my meditating companion. Yay.
We stood and circled each other into the cave to play a game of 4th-wall-break dancing. Wiggle wiggle at the camera.
Since I know my companion likes to collect the symbols and view the glyphs, I made sure we did so, but instead of meditating in front of the mural, we chirped in a meaningful conversation instead, chatting about the wind sweeping over the sand-covered buildings, potentially deliberating on what society was like in ancient times. Our conversations were fervent, continuing along as we sand-surfed toward the last of the small ribbons.
A group of Flyers propelled us into the air, which we used to tandem fly over the solo ribbon next to the bridge support. Beam-down #3 released the last of the normal Flyers, leaving only the larger ribbons to complete the bridge. We walked to the larger twin ribbons, sidewinding as we went, and landed on the War Machine’s head segment. I chirped quietly to my companion a few times at the base of the ribbon, hoping he’d understand that I wanted him to wait there. I then shimmied past him to the posterior one, pausing briefly to see if he’d follow. He didn’t, we cleansed the two bridge segments simultaneously, twirling in the air after the bridge formed.
All that remained was the first bridge ribbon, which we tandem flew to for beam-down #4.
Ah, yes, now that the bridge was complete and the final music trigger crossed, we could do one of my favorite activities and fly around to listen to all of the different sounds, the first of which was the crystal chime the bridge makes when you touch it.
Past the first gap, I faceplanted “onto” the ribbon bridge to show my companion what I wanted him to do. I stood so he could faceplant next, and when he didn’t quite make it onto the bridge, I pushed him the rest of the way, starting a game I used to play often back in the PS3 and forum days.
I used to be really good at knocking my companion off the ribbon bridge. Not so much anymore. Oh, he bounced around plenty, and I even managed to nudge him to the underside of the bridge, but alas, I didn’t quite manage to knock him off.
Your move, companion.
We tied in our losses (or would it be a win?) and flew back to the Flyers at the sandfalls. Once we touched down on the rock, I hopped into the air again, purposefully keeping clear of my companion to deplete my scarf’s charge. When this happens, the Flyers will activate to recharge your scarf, and the sound they make is a nice, high-pitched chime.
Unfortunately, the roaring of the sandfalls was too loud to hear their soft flutters, so I gave my companion some silent scarf hugs, and we flew to another school of Flyers. Still too loud.
The group near the ribbon my companion and I released to increase our chances of connecting were at least audible, but no, the sandfalls drowned them out as well.
We best heard the fluttering near the first completed bridge ribbon, not easily, but still able. It’s okay though because there would be other opportunities to hear the trickling flits.
As we glided along the bridge, we sang a short duet.
You can bet your sweet scarf I hugged my companion afterward.
At the base of the colonnade where we’d been perching, I tried to perch on one of the broken columns while my companion watched from the adjacent stone support. The wind and sand must have smoothed the rock over time because I always slid off. After several failed attempts, I faceplanted my, “I give up,” gesture, and my companion and I glided up the final bridge segment, diverging to light the gravestones.
I tried to fly onto the ancestor’s head as we entered the light, and I almost managed to land on it as I was forced to meditate for the History Lesson, but I bounced off and was sent careening somewhere to the side.
One of these days…
The sandfalls parted, the circle of light fading as I stood. I started scarf hugging him before he could move, but he was quick to reciprocate.
We chirped loudly, enough for the gravestones to light the History Lesson circle again, which was perfect for where I wanted to meditate later.
First, however, we had a sandfall to dive and faceplant into. Not a bad spot for a future game of hide-and-seek, if I do say so myself.
We plunged into the sandfall, popping in and out to chirp while the other hid. I love silly, playful moments like this.
I exited the sandfall and faceplanted into the narrow strip of flowing sand before the next fall, waiting for my companion to do the same. He struggled with it, stumbled several times but not quite toppling over, accidentally flying on occasion, in which the wind pushed him away from the cliff. I stood from my own faceplant to chirp for him so his scarf wouldn’t fully deplete.
Suspecting that it’s harder to be the 2nd faceplanter, I stood on the rock divider while my companion attempted to faceplant a few more times.
As I thought, he managed it much more easily, and it was then my turn to blunder mine. However, I was determined.
Honestly, I was surprised I was able to capture us from this particular angle, but I’m not complaining. The ability to manipulate the finicky camera makes capturing images like this worth it.
My companion stood with me so we could fly over to Headbonkers Cave, where we performed beam-down #5.
And more scarfhugs.
We entered the Out of Bounds area through here, since I wanted to keep charge-boosting to a minimum, and climbed to the top of the sand cliff, chirping out a short conversation to each other as we walked east to the perpetual wind blast. He started tumbling before I did, and I watched momentarily, heartily chuckling to myself as he rolled and rolled and rolled.
I joined him so we both got on a roll rolling.
The wind was howling, our cloaks were flapping, the sand was piling up, and here I was laughing as we flipped endlessly.
I rolled out of the infinite tumble loop and kicked up to a stand, turning around to watch my companion again until he understood I was ready to move on.
We continued flying east, off the main map and into the invisible wasteland, attempting to coast, albeit unsuccessfully. Even though we never succeeded at it, we did manage to keep in close enough contact to watch the white symbols stream behind us, flying east for a time before I directed us northward to watch the background change from sandy brown to pink, then lavender.
We landed at the top of an invisible hill, dust plumes billowing around us, intermittently chirping to each other while I debated on whether or not I wanted to try coasting more.
Yeh, I did.
Taking to the air, we flew south, but an idea came to mind and I purposefully dropped out of our flight to plop onto the ground again. On Discord, I mentioned how, when coasting, one companion tries to fly in front of the other so that it lines the coast up properly, but I was also curious to see what would happen if we tried to fly side-by-side instead. I knew it was a long shot, but during those times even when you think an idea will fail, sometimes it’s better to try just to make sure. Maybe I just assumed wrong and it would work after all.
(It didn’t, but it was worth the effort.)
We angled southeast to fly back toward solid ground, chirping to sustain each other in the air, though much of the time our chirps weren’t big enough to keep one of us from dropping.
I wish I could see what my companion sees so I could try and adjust for the distance difference and to minimize the loud chirps. Over the course of several journeys, I’ve found I actually prefer quieter chirps to the huge ones because the latter have come to feel akin to noise pollution.
Land ahoy!
A whisper in the back of my mind warned me as we were flying west, “Beware the crash zones. You don’t know where it’s at in this level.”
Oof. That would have been a damper on the beginning of our journey together.
Wary, I veered north again until the sand dipped down into a valley beneath Chapter Select’s transitional hallway.
We landed on the roof and scarf hugged each other before I led my companion through the unsolid portion of the roof and into the hallway itself, where we hid in a couple of the support columns.
Hur hur hur, where’d we go? All I see are scarves.
We sang another duet, an unintentional plan on my end but worth every second.
We exited the hall once our duet finished and flew back east until we landed at the top of the sand valley, sand-surfing to the ed—
Ahem.
Sand-surfing to the edge of the solid ground again.
We flew north, but I didn’t notice how far ahead I was of my companion until I started plummeting through the air. Ahh, my scarf was empty, and the radius of my poor companion’s panicked chirp-shouts wasn’t large enough to reach me, so I landed in what might have once been a canyon basin.
We climbed the sand hill again and flew west toward the exit into the Pink Desert, tumbling past the windwall and diving into the crater to investigate the green-tea colored overlay representing the sky for the Pink Desert while performing beam-down #6.
Scrabbling out of the crater so as not to accidentally walk into the Pink Desert trigger, I led my companion beneath the hallway to the platform with the Ancestor Statue. The light circle was still lit.
We meditated again in the hallway, where the doorway of light loomed over us.
Not quite ready to proceed, we crawled out from beneath the floor and glided over the roof to the west until the sky darkened to black trimmed with gold. We landed and continued chirping companionably as we walked.
We clambered to the top of the tallest sand dune we could, the one that looks out to the History Lesson banner, and meditated for a little while under a pale blue sky. When I was ready to move on, I stood and scarf hugged my companion again. Flying south to where the sky darkened again to black, we course-corrected to hover over the faint grayish-white cloud and beam down for #7, watching the air currents in the normal level of Broken Bridge flow like golden cloud streams.
Until the blackness swallowed us entirely.
At the end of our beam-down, we scaled the small dune to the east of the strange black box that we had just passed through and sat here for a while to appreciate the contrast of the gold clouds against the black dune and banner.
My companion in particular thought this area seemed pretty kewl, so I wanted to make sure I gave him ample time to appreciate it.
I attempted another half-hearted beam-down with my companion, but when I fell out of it, I decided I wanted to return to the top of the tall dune in the distance and do a proper beam-down where we had before. Beam-down #8, the final beam-down of Broken Bridge, happened over this small sand dune.
My companion and I flew to the top of the stairs at the end of Broken Bridge from Out of Bounds, sliding beneath the hallway again and slowly walking forward together until we broke into a run for the open desert: Pink Desert.
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Post by Zerathine on Sept 26, 2020 6:17:09 GMT
We slid down the sand from Broken Bridge’s exit and climbed the first sand dune, my companion on my right. The mountain was a looming giant in the distance spitting out the occasional star.
After our bout of obligatory scarf hugging, my companion and I flew to release the first Carpet from the War Machine segments via beam-down #9.
Heading east toward the colonnades and the first Pink Desert symbol, my companion and I detoured to the northeast to a magical sand dune that encourages Lorelei to stay close for playful scarf hugs. It took us a while to call Lorelei over, and even then it didn’t linger.
My companion and I beamed down on this sand dune for #10, all while Lorelei chirped at us in the distance.
Sidewinding our way to the symbol, Lorelei playfully circling us as we walked, my companion and I zen jumped to release the 2nd Carpet, receiving ample “thank you” scarf hugs from it. We flew onto the columns opposite the symbol so we could prepare for beam-down #11.
We didn’t stop to meditate this time, instead tandem flying to the flower hidden in its tiny pit of sand to the north, where, of course, we couldn’t pass up another opportunity for beam-down #12.
As my companion had done on our journey the day before, I, too, felt the need to wear the Flower.
It’s harder than it looks to shimmy under its petals, and I understand why it took so long for my companion to do so on our first journey. It’s easy to slide out from beneath it or to accidentally step on the blocks between which it’s growing.
I, however, was persistent.
“Do you like my hair?” I asked. “I just got it done today.”
“Dazzling,” my companion said.
The Carpets clucked and chirped around us, tentatively swimming down into the pit for a visit, leaving once they realized we weren’t going to immediately follow them.
We trudged up the sand dune overlooking the large ribbon protruding from the War Machine half-buried in another dune. At the top of ours, we took to the air and flew to the ribbon, performing beam-down #13 to release the other five Carpets.
My companion and I have similar personalities, which our playstyle reflected.
Punk Carpets deposited us at the top of the dune, and then had the nerve to glide lazily nearby. When we stood to chase them, they kept their distance, bringing us to a wall that was barely standing and another glyph.
We sat on the pips while the Carpets played nearby, chasing each other and trilling like dolphins while the Mountain released another shooting star.
We hopped down the other side of the wall to light the glyph and chat about the crops that once flourished in the present desert. What was once bountiful had become extinct.
Feeling mischievous, we chirped up a storm to cover the glyph in sand, faceplanting to quickly sink through the sand to the ground, little games and activities I relished from the days of old.
Venturing west, we wove between and onto dunes, the Carpets swimming through the air. Halfway to the glyph we were trudging toward, we started flying to quickly close the distance, mainly because I was growing impatient with the Pink Desert. For me, it’s one of the least interesting places. Too much open space and not much to see, although, admittedly, it’s great for flying practice, but today wasn’t the day for those fancy-flying shenanigans.
You’d think we would have learned our lesson after karma struck in the Underground, but no, we perched and wiggled on the gravestones while the Ancestors most likely were rolling in their graves.
Hopping off, we chirped about the glyph and the machines tending to the crops before they became weapons of war.
We freed the Carpet from its prison with beam-down #14.
The pod of Carpets led us north, over some smaller dunes to a crater, at the center of which was a small tower. At its summit glowed a symbol, but my companion and I didn’t collect it immediately. On a lower ledge, we landed on a broken bridge protruding from the tower, chirping at the Flyers and sitting before they launched us into the air. We were trying to land at the top of the tower while meditating, but our timing was always off.
So, we flew to the top instead, and I had him sit so I could push him underneath the glowing symbol. He didn’t know meditating would keep him from collecting the symbol, which was great because I got to show him something new. And this wouldn’t be the first or last instance either.
Once he was right where I wanted him, I sat down nearby to watch the sparkles twinkle around him.
He collected the symbol when he stood, and after a few scarf hugs, we faceplanted off the tower.
We paused to listen to the sound of the fluttering Flyers with greater clarity than in Broken Bridge, then climbed the collapsed roof of the nearby building, where I asked my companion to sit once more so that I could push him onto the ribbon.
Inside the building, we derped around between the War Machine segments, wiggling and dancing while the chirp of the Carpets echoed around us, eventually flying east to the hollow tower, quickly diving to beat the star. We sat down just in time for it to burst into symbols.
We meditated for a while. By the symbol, separately in the windows, and then together in a single window. The Flyers danced in circles behind us, and the Carpets continued their chatter nearby.
Eager to take advantage of the wind wall to silently coast, alighted on the last dune’s summit, the one overlooking the War Machine production tower.
Silent coasting: ten minutes. Cramped thumbs: two minutes. Creating sentimental memories: priceless. There aren’t many people I know who would sustain a coast for that long without succumbing to boredom and “accidentally” dropping out of it, especially in an area so devoid of views, but my companion, as he does with so many things, willingly sustained it with me. Choked up and filled with ever-growing gratitude, I scarf-hugged my companion into oblivion once our feet touched the ground.
Chirping excitedly, we wound our way to the smaller of the two Carpet pens, and snuck inside a false wall to observe the trapped Carpets flying within.
We tried to get the Carpet outside to break us out of this “glitch” but it refused to do so, even though it would snatch and carry us to the ceiling. Punk Carpets are a Carpin’.
We left of our own accord and freed the Carpet snagged between the broken gate, faceplanting to let it carry us up top, then jumping down next to the bridge so that the Carpet would spazz.
"Carpet.exe has stopped responding,” my companion said. When we started crossing the bridge, we wound along it in a double-helix, pausing at the end to appreciate the process of War Machine construction. We circumnavigated the central structure by sneaking around the ledge like a couple of scaredy-cats, hiding behind the walls and moving between the flashes of light.
At the end, we faceplanted for the Carpet to carry us again and sauntered around the left of the stairs to collect the symbol, doubling back to ascend the stairs and perch atop the Ancestor Statue’s head.
My companion went idle during the History Lesson, and upon his return, we meditated atop the stair posts, separately at first, then together on the same one.
I wasn’t wanting to stay separated from him for long. In fact, as the journey progressed, I stuck close to him like glue and became uneasy if I didn’t see his glow. I wanted to be with him as often as I could, which meant twirling down the stairs together and letting the Carpets at the base carry us to the Sunken City.
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Post by Zerathine on Sept 26, 2020 23:47:41 GMT
I slid to the left to the two parallel collapsed bridge segments, my companion hot on my trail, but whereas I sat to catch one of the Carpets and appreciate the scenery, my companion slid on. In retrospect, I should have shown him I wanted him to sit by doing so from the moment the Carpets dropped us over the wall. Oopsy-doopsy.
Standing, I passed my companion, slowing down until we were together, sliding through the leftmost arches, drifting back to the right to whisk along the middle bridge segment to collect the symbol at the end, flying to the ruined parapet to meditate.
My companion almost made it! Yet he slid off just as he was in the process of sitting. So close.
I leapt after him, halting to sit again a few meters away from the hallway entrance so he would do the same just within the mouth of it. I repeated my gesture, sitting where he had, the wind pushing us out of the hallway. We’d be suffering from a sand rash later for sure.
Yet that didn’t keep us from repeating this throughout the corridor, standing and sitting, sneaking ever closer to the exit into the courtyard, lining up seconds from plummeting to sit and watch the Carpets fly past.
I burst through the sandfall and into the courtyard, hovering in the air to wait for my companion so we could fly over to the symbol on the clotheduct for another beam-down attempt, which ultimately failed because of the wind. Collecting the symbol anyway, we faceplanted to the sands below.
The Carpets were feeling particularly affectionate this time around and embraced us well after the song ended, all the way up until we completed beam-down #15 on the ribbon closest to the corridor.
We flew to the farthest pair of ribbons beaming down for #16 and #17 onto each of them.
As the Flyers were released, we flew for a 4th-wall-break wiggle in front of the camera like a couple of dorks and twirled for beam-down #18, a favorite of mine because of the elegant motion.
Flying to the alcove and the hidden cubby with the glyph, we chirped about the mural’s image, commenting on the clotheducts and the architecture for the Sunken City. Since I know my companion likes sitting behind these grave markers, that’s what we did.
“Welcome to Good Burger, home of the Good Burger, can I take your order?”
We stood and left the alcove, dashing to play in the school of Flyers, chirping loudly and sitting so they’d launch us high into the air and send us skidding through the sand between catches. At one point, they even sent me flying against the middle platform that once trapped them.
Definitely going to incur sand rashes.
They hoisted us onto the exit platform, which we leapt off of just inside the courtyard to a chargeless boost spot that allowed us to reach the upper parapet.
With this particular companion, I prefer keeping the fancy flying to a minimum, because I know it’s not his cup of GOO-ffe, and since entering Out of Bounds is easy through normal means. I made an exception here, using this particular charge boost to take us up to the invisible floor above the level.
We crept forward until we found the edge of the invisible ledge. I had my companion sit so I could push him off, then followed suit by zen leaping off myself.
“EXTREME PUSHING!” my companion said, “THE HOTTEST NEW SPORT THIS SIDE OF THE MOUNTAIN! GET YOUR TICKETS TODAY!”
I would pay to watch that, not gonna lie.
Flying above the gate, we meditated together on the left pillar.
By this point, I would have rather risked asymmetry than sit too far away from my companion, which is out of character for me because I like the aesthetic look of symmetrical images.
We leapt off the ledge, sliding down the glittering sand through arches to the stone bridge surrounded by jutting rocks. I sat to slide along the smooth surface, but my companion slid off before he could finish sitting. I fell off, too, shortly thereafter to join him.
We flew into the crevice between two cliffs to the symbol on the rocky outcropping, then hopped off to skate through more arches, the cliffs on either side narrowing into a gallery overlooking the golden fire of the sunset reflecting off the sand.
At the end of this hallway, we slid into silence.
It always saddens me when new players skip past here, even though I know why many of them do. I can only hope that those who go on future journeys take the time to savor this moment of respite like my companion and I do.
We took our time in meditating here before creeping forward to let the sand whisk us away into the final slide, the descent steeper than any prior to it, eventually depositing us into the pit, presumably ground zero of the mega War Machine blast.
Once my companion and I recovered from the impact of our fall, we wound our way to the glyph tucked away on a ruined wall in the darkness, chirping with solemn undertones to discuss the in-fighting on display, continuing the discussion as we entered the History Lesson and learned of the conflict in the distant past.
After the History Lesson, well...
It would have been criminal for us to leave here without opening the black market.
Unfortunately, we had to close down again because there were no buyers.
We packed up shop and flew together to the cliff face east of the Underground entrance, scaling it until we passed through into the Out of Bounds. It’s been a while since I used this method, but I didn’t want to risk trying to fly through the doorway’s ceiling since we had opened the gate.
We climbed the sandy mountain to the top and paused.
Tandem flying, we set off for the city, touching down near one of my favorite places to bring companions, a hollow building where I like to sing for willing listeners.
I wish I had video footage of it, but unfortunately the command never went through, and I was unaware of this until later.
When I finished singing, we scarf-hugged each other long enough to build an impenetrable sand fort made of tiny spires, which we eventually abandoned to become another fleeting memory, leaving the city the same way we’d entered, clamoring further up the sand hill until we reached the beginning. The dusty whirlwind dissipated around the War Machine production tower from Pink Desert, and together my companion and I flew around it to the other side.
With a clear view of both the tower and the Mountain in the background, my companion and I paused mid-flight for beam-down #19.
Further west, we circumnavigated the level through flight, taking advantage of the height to fly as far and long together as possible.
Performing a duet as we went.
I paused momentarily after the duet, debating if I wanted to beam-down to say hi to any of the Out of Bounds Carpets, but after deliberating (and most likely confusing my companion in the process), I decided I wanted to continue out toward the mountain instead.
We eventually got to a point in our tandem flying where we were able to perform another duet, this one overall longer and lasting until we reached our sky painting area.
I’d been excited to bring my companion here ever since I learned that he had never been sky painting. I would have taken him to the one in Broken Bridge, but I couldn’t remember its exact location, and I didn’t want to risk getting stuck in blackness while searching for it. This was the next best viable option.
We dipped and flew around here, watching the distant mountain range and setting sun bleed into the sky, afterimages of our own figures smearing into one another.
My companion started to glide downward, chirping loudly because he had run out of scarf charge to fly. Diving after him, I tried to recharge his scarf with my loudest chirps, but he was just outside the radius. I had to zip past him and pull back for my chirp to catch him, but we luckily met again in the air, and for the cherry to top my gallant save, we beamed down for over four minutes for beam-down #20.
Every time the sand slid beneath us, we hopped to recollect ourselves, twirling around each other, eventually taking to the sky again to begin the long flight back to solid ground, singing another semi-duet as we flew.
Near the History Lesson billboard, we did some more sky painting, and then I had my companion sit so we could witness Journey Dreams.
“What did they slip into this sand?” my companion asked me.
“LSanD,” was my immediate reply.
And by taking LSanD, you, too, can become one with the night sky!
(You can find it on the black market. Oh wait. It’s closed.)
We wandered a little ways behind the banner so I could show my companion my favorite spot from the PS3 days, the sky black with golden clouds, the Mountain surrounded by a golden aura while a beam of light shoots vertically from it. The silhouettes of the buildings in the distance, ruined husks of what they once were, all contrasting the bluish tint of our cloaks.
We returned to the western side of the map (as you’re looking at the mountain) and flew up the sand cliff. I knew there was a crash zone nearby, so I very hesitantly skirted any areas where I saw an invisible floor despite knowing that there are sections of it that are okay in this level. I simply didn’t want to risk it.
We ended up returning to the top of the level because of my paranoia, which was fine, because it allowed us to fly over the final hallway and perform beam-down #21 nearby.
We didn’t visit the corridor for long, but I enjoyed being able to see the city through the gallery instead of zipping through like you’re forced to do. At least here you get to savor the view a little more, even if it’s not exactly the same.
We scaled the hill to avoid awkward camera changes and, curious about the dome, we flew out toward it for beam-down #22 behind what would have once been windows.
Once we landed, I led us back toward the entrance to the Underground, where we beamed down for #23 in the circle of white light.
Sidewinding back through the antechamber from the wrong direction, we entered the Underground.
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Post by Zerathine on Oct 4, 2020 11:04:54 GMT
“Well we know a DC is probably coming so we should go ahead and brace for it, and plan for what to do if when it happens,” my companion said.
“As long as it’s before the WMs, we should be able to reconnect alright. It’s after the WMs activate that problems arise. From the slight warpiness in SC though, I think you’re right.”
We sat together in the Underground entrance while we spoke to each other, backs pressed against one another’s, my companion’s scarf wrapping around both him and me.
It’s kind of funny how one can like a particular “meditation style,” but somehow, with our backs touching, I felt closer to my companion here than at any other point meditating, just like in the Pink Desert, and it helped me steel myself for a potential disconnect. If it happened—when it happened— I wouldn’t allow myself to succumb to the same disappointment and become as disconsolate as I had the day before. I refused. I was going to enjoy my time in the Underground, and I was going to go at my pace, not the game’s.
With newfound determination, my companion and I stood, making our way to a ruined section of wall protruding from the sand, its decorative arches broken on one side. We sat with an arch space between us, but a part of me still worried my companion would dust if I wasn’t there to help him glow, so I hopped over to where he was sitting and sat next to him.
Satisfied, we stood and leapt to the ground, weaving to and fro along the sand, stopping in the echo pipe to hear the difference in our chirps, and sitting in the light where the Flyers would flit about.
I—uhh...what happened here?
From the way I was seated, it looked like I was turning around to face my companion as we walked, but I was definitely facing him. Optical illusions for the win.
Tandem flying to the symbol tucked away at the bottom of the clotheduct pipe, we faceplanted on our way out, continuing our tandem flight over the sandbar and to the threshold for the next room, pausing in the doorway for beam-down #24.
We backtracked to collect the symbol from within the clotheduct, and, being the couple of dorks that we were, faceplanted once again on opposite sides of the wire mesh, landing in a way to keep sustaining the glow between us.
We ventured to the parallel clotheduct on the opposite side of the room, where we floated by using one of the Kelp ribbons growing partially inside the pipe.
We doubled back even further to the clotheduct pipes jutting out from the sandbar wiggled past the three Kelp ribbons sprouting inside of it.
Five minutes in prison, and my companion has already resorted to nomming his own scarf. We were going to have to bust out if it was the last thing we did.
Thankfully it wasn’t, and the Kelp hardly put up a fight.
We left the Kelp and Flyers behind, continuing on to visit the Jellies and to collect the symbol from the highest Jelly. I brought us to a false wall beneath the next threshold, and we stood here for a moment to peer out at the Kelp swaying and the Jellies bobbing in place.
From here we had a few choices.
I could either lead my companion into the Out of Bounds to visit the Underground Starfield, or I could exercise some patience and we could continue through the level to the end, then backtrack to the Starfield after the music no longer overpowered the subtle sound effects.
Since I was wary of a disconnect, however, I decided to go the safe route. We tandem flew back to the entrance, landing on the mantle above the entryway, and climbed up the pipes from there until we could reach the exit’s mantle, passing through the wall and flying to the right into Out of Bounds, which we followed through the Underground back to the entrance, tandem flying through part of it to watch the symbol sparkles fly out in our wake until we reached pseudo-umbra.
We landed and walked back to the Starfield, kicking up multi-colored sand as we chirped along on our way to visit the Disco War Machine at the southeast corner where solid ground cuts off to invisible. Eager to continue on, however, and return once the music had stopped, we didn’t linger, flying instead toward the middle of the level where dozens of support columns rise up from the ground to support the Underground. We beamed down for #25 into the unsolid parts of one of the support pillars.
We played a short game of peek-a-boo by alternating on popping up out of the pillar to chirp and then floating back down, occasionally flying to a new pillar to repeat the game.
Tandem flying to where the first War Machine bursts up from the sand to shred Lorelei, we performed beam-down #26.
The War Machine here acted normal, but after we passed through the hall, it never reappeared, sparing the Golden Flyers from imminent death.
“Gone on your end?” I asked my companion.
“No. But I’m paranoid,” he replied, echoing my own sentiments.
No, I’m not gonna let the game control my pace.
We zen chirped the Flyers for funsies before trudging up the slope to the glyph, hopping onto the gravestones like we had in the Pink Desert, wiggling our cloaks so they swished back and forth. On a whim, I decided to hop onto my companion’s pair of gravestones to playfully push him off, but to both our surprise, the opposite happened. Just like the War Machine segments inside that building near the small tower in the Pink Desert, instead of shoving my companion off the gravestones, we fused into the Ultimate God of Hyperscarves, a creature of unfathomable power, capable of destroying whole timelines and—
—oh, why’d he stop glowing?
Oh.
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Post by Zerathine on Oct 11, 2020 4:48:45 GMT
Oh…
Well. Well, well, well.
I leapt from the graves and stood next to the ghost of my companion, befuddled.
“Huh, your ghost is still with me,” I told him.
“Same.”
“Well that’s an interesting discovery.”
I don’t know if it was because of this interesting glitch or if I was just better prepared for the disconnect, but it affected my companion this second run much harder than it did me.
“Sorry I’m not as chipper as I was yesterday,” he said. “But I’m still determined to get through here.”
I felt somewhat guilty for my companion’s disappointment, since our slowness was a result of my puttering around, but I don’t regret the pace I took or the sights we saw, because it’s the experience itself that matters most in the end.
We would restart and reconnect just as we had before. This time it would be easier because we were two White Cloaks, which would eliminate all potential of bumping into the plethora of first-run Reds we had encountered the previous journey. Oy vey.
We both closed out of the game entirely instead of returning to Chapter Select, because neither of us wanted to lose our scarf.
Just like before, upon entering the Underground, I traveled between the lit sand mound and the first rock, this time flying without cessation, except to reset the network. Five minutes passed, no sign of a companion, mine or otherwise, but I stubbornly held onto the belief that we’d reconnect, and we did, much sooner than on our Red run.
Elated to be together again, we gave each other a plethora of scarf hugs, then flew through the previously traveled areas, collecting the symbols from the two clotheduct pipes and the one on top of the Jelly.
Instead of flying into Out of Bounds like we had before, we performed beam-down #27 down into the War Machine production hall, sidewinding through a majority of it before I decided to fly to the slumbering beast. As soon as it burst forth, my companion and I dove into it, ricocheting off its back in opposite directions, tumbling through the sand into a faceplanted halt.
I lumbered to a tottering stand, my movement sluggish until I regained my composure. Flying past the broken War Machine statue to greet my companion, we traveled to the same stone Guardian as in our first journey. We perched on its head, listening to the calls and mechanical clicks and whirs of the real War Machine on the other side of the wall.
With its cries as our back-up, my companion and I performed another duet, this time experimenting with the rhythm of our song.
From our perch, we flew into the narrow corridor for beam-down #28 and a gradation from white to orange to vibrant red and back to white for our cloaks.
The latency skips between my companion and I slowly grew more pronounced as the journey progressed, rendering beam-downs like this one difficult. The longer we played, the more we were tempting luck.
Were we about to disconnect again? Would Murphy really be so cruel? We landed safely enough, but that meant nothing if the latency persisted or worsened. We would just have to see.
Waddling through the hallway, we leapt onto the windowsill to watch the War Machine pass, hopping off to weave our way to the left around the corner and out into open caverns again, the War Machine gliding by and around to attack the Golden Flyers like normal, destroying them for both my companion and me.
We quickly reactivated the glyph but turned our back on the mural to fly through the open cavern into the section major section, activating the second War Machine and flying past the protective clotheduct. We paused on the stone War Machine beyond the wall dividing the second and third zones of the cave system, the live ones looping around their patrol path..
Not willing to miss an opportunity to bounce off of War Machines, I stood and dove into the first one, my companion mimicking me for the second.
Rolling to a halt, covered in sand, my companion asked me, “They supposed to keep respawning like that?” while I smothered his faceplanted form in scarf hugs. I paused to affirm my companion’s question, and he asked, “Has it always been that way?”
“I think so,” I said. “The trigger is past the symbol I think.”
“Huuuuuuh. New to me.”
Oh yay
I got to show him something else he hadn’t known about. I’d been hoping I’d get to show him some new things, something to help make our journey more memorable and special to him, places or events that would stick out so if he ever encountered them again with another companion he’d think, “Zera showed me this,” ahaha.
We flew over the banister to attempt a beam-down over the final symbol, but I fell too close to it and wound up collecting it by accident. I faceplanted an apology to my companion, who did the same, and we proceeded from there to the threshold overlooking the final slide as the War Machine glided fluidly through the hallway in search of us.
I hopped onto the slope first, staying ahead of my companion so I could collect both War Machine lights instead of him, a self-sacrificing gesture I always like to make if I can, even if there’s no real risk getting attacked. If one of us was programmed to suffer an assault, I would always try to take the hit so none of my companions would have to.
At the end of the slope, when the Barrier flashed to repel the War Machines, the left one ricocheted off at a 30 degree angle back toward the hall. I chuckled, amused.
Waddling to the History Lesson, we viewed it first before our visit to Gary and Larry.
I stuck close to my companion during our visit so I would know by his glow that we were still together.
We separated at the lamps, and while I sifted through the different screensavers to find the few that would include us, I discovered something interesting. On my particular lamp, entering and exiting the screensaver would result in it chiming, like someone was striking a small gong. If I had known this would happen previously, I had since forgotten about it. Excited, I shared my findings with my companion, chirping at him a few times so he would fly over to me.
I may also have been procrastinating a smidge.
I wanted to return to the Starfield, no doubt about that, but there was that lingering fear of what we would do if we got disconnected again, so close to the end, yet all the way back at the beginning.
I had to risk it.
I stood from the lamp with my companion, and we climbed back up the slope, backtracking through the patrol cavern, through the production hallway, and back into the Jellyfish room, using the slower method of scaling the clotheduct support beams instead of charge boosting.
From the mantle, we entered the Out of Bounds and flew back to the beginning of the Underground for the Starfield.
We flew until we reached penumbra, arcing around to exit it and return to the Starfield. I wanted to keep flying, to watch the symbols glide by in our wake, but I wasn’t willing to risk getting lost for the sake of coasting, so I halted mid-flight when I noticed the Underground light starting to fade and, after failing an attempted beam-down, returned to the top of the sand wall to try again.
We completed beam-down #29 surrounded by Starfield sparkles.
The Underground Out of Bounds may not be the most interesting for a majority of travelers, but it’s my favorite. This particular level was where I met one of my closest companions, incognitoLeo, back in the old forum days. I thought I knew the Out of Bounds well enough to lead people back there, and she was relatively new, if I remember correctly, newer than me at least, to these kinds of areas.
We both got hopelessly lost together, spent at least an hour trying to navigate our way back to solid ground without luck, until she did her, “I’m sorry but I have to leave,” dance.
This was the farthest Klowny and I ever traveled together. The few times we met by chance, we silently coasted, the hum as we touched echoing over the music, the symbols gliding past while sparkles twinkled around us.
In the PS3 days, I would Charge Boost from the entrance and sit in the Starfield, especially if I was feeling despondent or hurt. It always calmed me down.
Powerful memories.
Listening to the hum, watching the symbols pop all around us, filled to the brim with depthless gratitude for my companion, I started crying.
“…and I don’t even know why,” I said to him. “This starfield is my favorite, and I love to come here with a companion after the level is finished ‘cause it’s silent and you can really hear the hum of the wayfarers touching, and the last time I tried to come here with someone post HL…I think it might have been that day. Of all the things I can do in Journey, this is my favorite. And most of the time I just come here at the beginning or skip it entirely ‘cause I know, I know there’s going to be a DC, but if you come here at the beginning, you can’t hear the hum as well [because of the music]. Sorry. I’m feeling kinda emotional at the moment.”
“I completely understand. Take whatever time you need.”
“I don’t even know why this is my favorite spot. There are plenty of beautiful areas in the game, each unique in their own way,” I said.
“There doesn’t have to be a reason IMO. Sometimes it’s just a general feeling or attachment. In fact, sometimes when favorable qualities are applied to things, they’d even lessen their value, I think, than going by feeling alone.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
We stayed in the Starfield for a little over thirty minutes. It was the first time I felt compelled to force any of my companions to remain seated so I could give him scarf hugs, circling round and round while wishing I could properly convey the whole plethora of emotions churning in my chest, hoping he would understand even a fraction of what I felt.
My companion and I may have had a falling out several years ago, but I always believed he was a compassionate person deep down, a tender and gentle companion, fiercely loyal and a fearless follower.
Everyone has issues they need to sort out, but it takes a strong individual to recognize this and enact change. A weaker person would blame the world for their misfortune or problems and stew in the cesspool of their own bitterness. They who follow the path of self-improvement will always stumble into old habits, but over time, as that person becomes more surefooted in their progression, that faltering lessens until they can leave behind the person they were without loathing that past self.
I could have sat here for hours, and have even done so more recently with this same companion, but if I didn’t want to further tempt my internet, it was time to go.
We walked, kicking up starry sand, taking flight only after we reached solid ground again, and we flew nonstop until we reached the end of the Underground, arcing left to enter the hall from high above, using beam-down #30 to land on the farthest hanging lamp from the door.
We meditated on each one…
…listening to the dual hums…
…as they droned from both us and the lamp…
Beam-down #31 didn’t want to stick even though we were as close as we had ever been, which wasn’t a good sign. Our connection was growing increasingly unstable, and we still have the Tower, Snow, and Paradise to traverse. I could only hope we wouldn’t encounter more interruptions…
We landed just beneath the lamp, my companion behind me on an invisible sand mound.
We spent a couple minutes climbing and sliding down this invisible sand mound, quietly giving each other scarf hugs, tears threatening to return as we began slow-walking through the rest of the hall and into the Tower.
“UG is best area,” I said, a sentiment my companion repeated.
“We made it, Zera,” he said afterward. “We made it.”
For which I am grateful because, had we disconnected while sitting in the Undergound Starfield or on the lamps near the Tower, I would have lost it, and I’m not sure I would have recovered that particular day. I was too emotionally tender, like when the walls fall during meditation and both desirable and undesirable emotions flood through you in an emotional cleansing.
We still weren’t safe, but at least we had traveled through the whole of the Underground. Together.
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Post by Zerathine on Oct 18, 2020 1:35:06 GMT
From the Tower entrance we flew onto the nearest intact buttress, and hopped counterclockwise to the others to reach the symbol. I had been hoping to beam-down here, but I failed to notify my companion through chirps or gestures in time, so he collected the symbol. Whoopsy-doopsy, hahahah.
From the symbol, we flew to the platform opposite us, climbing clockwise until we could enter the center of the Tower itself. We sat above the trapped flyers before I stood to activate the gravestones for the second level of GOO. I like to share this particular Easter egg because I always enjoy it when a companion does so for me. It’s been a long time since someone else asked me to wait here, but that’s why it pays to be a fast flyer, ‘cause I can still return almost in time to participate in the Flyer release as well.
The GOO rose past our heads, Carpets swimming over us ecstatically. We swam to the parlor to collect the second symbol, flying up one of its support pillars to gain enough height to fly to the whale room, where the Whale continued sleeping high above us. We lit the glyph, and I went down the row of ancestors, chirping at each one until I reached the deceased one beneath the Tower, whereupon my companion and I both faceplanted.
D-E-D dead. Standing, we flew to the first ribbon on the right and used that to climb up onto the walkway. We exploited the bug that allows you to fall through the ceiling and onto the floor below, landing by the symbol pulsing through the various letters of the alphabet, collecting it as we stood to run around in scarf hug circles.
Flying up the inside of the ribbon up, we tried to meditate on the hanging lanterns, but alas, they were too small, and they rotated too quickly, so instead we exploited the glitch to pop through the ceiling and onto the upper walkway, a little too close to the wall for comfort. I didn’t want one of us to accidentally fall into Out of Bounds, so we walked counterclockwise to continue our glitch shenanigans, eventually paying a visit to my companion’s arch nemesis.
I like to hover in the center where the Whale revolves and chirp as loudly as I can so its body glows temporarily. I also enjoy diving through its fins, passing through the ribbon like fish might wiggle through anemone. If you also hover in one spot and don’t move, you’ll bob as the Whale circles around, which is also fun to do.
To indicate I had finished playing with the Whale, I returned to the circular walkway to watch my companion in the few seconds he didn’t notice my departure.
We hopped back to the floor to rustle through the ribbon curtains, since my companion had never noticed the crystal-wine-glass chime from them. From the symbol ribbon to the opposite side, we dove in and out of each one to relish the sound before we returned to the main room, one level higher than previously so we could collect the final symbol.
Yes. We are finally here.
I had my companion sit so I could push him beneath the symbol, eager to see his reaction when he stood and didn’t automatically collect it. As I suspected, he had never experienced this, and he wondered aloud why this particular symbol was programmed differently compared to the others.
I’unno the answer to that question.
We dry climbed the rest of the Tower by hopping onto the portico above the hollow chamber in the central structure, flying counter-clockwise to the opposite side so we’d land across from the GOO activation gravestones. Carefully, we flew atop the mausoleum platform to reach the next level of the Tower, activating part of the cloth bridge in the process, which we followed around from the bottom platform, utilizing the Flyers at the end to help us reach the stairs.
Weaving around the gravestones, we activated the History Lesson light, approaching it together from opposite the Ancestor Statue. As always, I hopped at the last second in an attem—oh crap.
Turns out I didn’t touch the light before I flew, but my companion had. I didn’t notice until I touched down. Scurrying back, I ran into the circle to view the History Lesson, hopeful that not enough time had passed to force a disconnect between my companion and me.
As the vision circled through the entire journey, from when we were born from a star to when my companion and I met and traveled together up to this point, I started to get choked up again. Two journeys together, not a single trial we traversed alone—excepting Chapter Select—and not with a plethora of different companions like is the case most of the time nowadays.
Thankfully, when the vision ended, my companion was still standing next to me. I scuttled to stand behind the statue, and my companion followed me, standing on the opposite side. We played a small game of peekaboo with one another before I decided to try hopping onto the Ancestor Statue’s head. I succeeded in one try, oh yeah~
The same could not be said of my attempt to perch on the gravestone just at the top of the stairs. It took several attempts, and my companion and I helped each other with chirps to make it easier, but at least we did it.
Not ready to cross the bridge, we descended the stairs to activate the final level of GOO, diving to the adjacent rising platform to ride it all the way to the top, faceplanting so we would hide in the stone.
Tower filled with GOO, we flew to the bridge so I could push my companion off the edge and to the launching sand on the ground floor. After a couple failed attempts, I faceplanted after him, bellyflopping and sinking into the sand where I landed, his glow but a small speck in the distance from how far he ricocheted.
Reuniting in a flurry of more scarf hugs, we swam up to the Jellies, pausing here to listen to their dulcet hums echoing in the GOO-filled chamber.
We ascended past the ribbon bridge, lightly touching it so its chime would resonate as we broke past the GOO and returned to the solid bridge. I sat so my companion could reciprocate pushing me off.
He swam down to meet me, and after a round of silent scarf hugs, we swam up, visiting the Jellies again, before making our way to the Whale room to visit Out of Bounds. We glided around for a bit in the putty-like green-gold sand.
Who can resist the derpy dancing at the bottom of the Tower? Certainly not us.
Finishing another round of scarf hugs, we swam back to the whale room so we could fly to the snowy hallway above it.
I wanted to try and find the charge boost spot that would allow us to reach the top of the Tower without having to Reverse Drop Shoot, but I forgot where it was, and unfortunately I hit the trigger that would take us to Snow.
Oops.
I’ll remember where it’s at eventually. At least we wound up accidentally entering Snow together instead of disconnecting.
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