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goodmeme2023-10-06 06:18 pm
morrowmods) wrote in goodmeme2023-10-06 06:18 pm
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TEST DRIVE MEME
test drive meme
Welcome to the opening test drive of goodmorrow! If you're just getting here, you can find our game premise here and our full navigation here.
It's a new game, but you don't have to play a newbie! This game has a mechanic that allows people to app characters who aren't new to the setting. Please check over on our application guidelines for more information about how it works. We've also got a summary of World Events that occurred prior to this TDM, so your oldbie can have some things to reference.
Thank you for playing! We're excited to have you.
goodmorrow! If you're just getting here, you can find our game premise here and our full navigation here.It's a new game, but you don't have to play a newbie! This game has a mechanic that allows people to app characters who aren't new to the setting. Please check over on our application guidelines for more information about how it works. We've also got a summary of World Events that occurred prior to this TDM, so your oldbie can have some things to reference.
Thank you for playing! We're excited to have you.
the summoning
Arrivals
There is always a buzz around the time of a summoning ritual. Will there be dozens? Or will this time only yield a handful? Will the stakes become dramatic enough for there to be a glimpse of one of the Old Ones, and the chance to partake in their incomprehensible greatness? The ones who believe consider it a day of hope and new beginnings. However, there are much more mundane concerns for the skeptics. Summoning means that there will be a whole new group of displaced folks who'll need to be oriented. They'll come hurting and confused, squirming with the bone-deep pain of travel and weary after hours of hearing about how they've been Chosen to herald the approach of the Old Ones. People will be here seeking help, and most of the native townsfolk only understand how to preach at newcomers. The new arrivals will likely need help from more experienced expats who better understand where they're coming from.
dessicated and unremarkable
Forbidden Knowledge
Even after the end of the summoning ritual, many kept their eyes watching the sky. There is always the risk of summoning more than just a new batch of novitiates. When pulling things from other worlds, chances are high that something else might tag along.
A few hours after the end of the introductory sermon, scraps of paper start to blow down from the sky. They travel on the breeze and seem to get into everything. They land on roofs and float through open windows. They get tangled in tree branches and end up underfoot on walking paths. Page after page delicately makes its way to the earth.
It must be wisdom from the cosmos! The rumor sweeps its way across town in hushed whispers. The gossips are saying that the elders want the pages collected, so that they can properly archive and study them. They promise a handsome reward to those who can gather enough to fill a tome, but that seems somehow less attractive, even as something to wish about. Whether deliberately hunting out the pages or accidentally encountering them in everyday life, it will soon be obvious that these are pages full of something best left unseen.
Some of the manuscript pages seem mundane enough. The words seem strangely familiar, as if they might be legible if one focuses on them hard enough. It's just a matter of figuring out handwriting or deciphering a dialect. It must be. A page might prove so engrossing that it leaves a person in an enthralled state, silently locked in a quest to understand something that looks so comprehensible only for it to veer off into the uncanny. This lock might leave them tremendously suggestible to any words spoken around them, their minds struggling and desperate enough to latch on to anything comprehensible at all.
Other pages seem less similar to human writing and will likely create less of a hold on those with the misfortune to view them. The pages covered in glyphs and arcane symbols feel almost empowering their foreignness, almost as if one might simply let the experience wash over them and let it run through them. Those unlucky enough to state too long at one of those pages might find themselves overwhelmed by instances of magical outbursts. It feels like a strange sort of sneeze as the arcane energy suddenly sparks a small thunderbolt into existence, or turns a bushel of hay into a solid block of iron. The effects are seemingly random, but wear off on their own in a few minutes. It's probably fine. What kind of damage could be done in such a short time?
This might be a relief to the illiterate members of the community, if it wasn't for the leathery pages. More parchment than paper in texture, these pages seem to carry something ominous in the rough fibers of their material. When touched without protective gloves, these pages force their handler to feel a glimpse of unspeakable suffering. It comes from a place beyond pain, lighting parts of the mind that were never intended for use. Screaming might be a way to express it, but more often it manifests in an expression of extreme emotion. Hysterical mania seems nice until it doesn't end and keeps a person up at night unable to stop laughing. Murderous rage might be inconvenient for the other members of the village. Whatever the emotion is, it's gone far beyond any normal limitation and will stay that way for the next several hours.
Enjoy the hunt, Revelbrooke. Try not to end up with too many papercuts.
A few hours after the end of the introductory sermon, scraps of paper start to blow down from the sky. They travel on the breeze and seem to get into everything. They land on roofs and float through open windows. They get tangled in tree branches and end up underfoot on walking paths. Page after page delicately makes its way to the earth.
It must be wisdom from the cosmos! The rumor sweeps its way across town in hushed whispers. The gossips are saying that the elders want the pages collected, so that they can properly archive and study them. They promise a handsome reward to those who can gather enough to fill a tome, but that seems somehow less attractive, even as something to wish about. Whether deliberately hunting out the pages or accidentally encountering them in everyday life, it will soon be obvious that these are pages full of something best left unseen.
Some of the manuscript pages seem mundane enough. The words seem strangely familiar, as if they might be legible if one focuses on them hard enough. It's just a matter of figuring out handwriting or deciphering a dialect. It must be. A page might prove so engrossing that it leaves a person in an enthralled state, silently locked in a quest to understand something that looks so comprehensible only for it to veer off into the uncanny. This lock might leave them tremendously suggestible to any words spoken around them, their minds struggling and desperate enough to latch on to anything comprehensible at all.
Other pages seem less similar to human writing and will likely create less of a hold on those with the misfortune to view them. The pages covered in glyphs and arcane symbols feel almost empowering their foreignness, almost as if one might simply let the experience wash over them and let it run through them. Those unlucky enough to state too long at one of those pages might find themselves overwhelmed by instances of magical outbursts. It feels like a strange sort of sneeze as the arcane energy suddenly sparks a small thunderbolt into existence, or turns a bushel of hay into a solid block of iron. The effects are seemingly random, but wear off on their own in a few minutes. It's probably fine. What kind of damage could be done in such a short time?
This might be a relief to the illiterate members of the community, if it wasn't for the leathery pages. More parchment than paper in texture, these pages seem to carry something ominous in the rough fibers of their material. When touched without protective gloves, these pages force their handler to feel a glimpse of unspeakable suffering. It comes from a place beyond pain, lighting parts of the mind that were never intended for use. Screaming might be a way to express it, but more often it manifests in an expression of extreme emotion. Hysterical mania seems nice until it doesn't end and keeps a person up at night unable to stop laughing. Murderous rage might be inconvenient for the other members of the village. Whatever the emotion is, it's gone far beyond any normal limitation and will stay that way for the next several hours.
Enjoy the hunt, Revelbrooke. Try not to end up with too many papercuts.
ooc notes
Thanks for checking out this setting! If you have questions, feel free to direct them to the first thread below.
no subject
He could not help the slightly unsettled feeling that brought about. He'd been useful to Mystra up until his curiosity got in the way of things; and he was fairly certain that Mystra was currently with her next wizard flavor of the moment; and when would he stop being useful to Astarion?
Something shifted in Gale's demeanor, from being happy for the intimacy to feeling the weight of what he brought to the literal table (dinner) for Astarion. But he supposed that was his lot in life and that he deserved such a thing, he had been a tool for as long as he could remember and tools did not just turn into things that could be loved, now did they? They were objects with functionality.
He reached up to rub his thumb over the marks that were left by the feeding. He had not exploded and that was a good thing however he did shift once Astarion pulled collar back into place. ] I should probably ah, eat something and then go to bed however I will be more than happy to be of service to you if you cannot find any other arrangement.
[ Service, he could speak in those terms-- he was good at acts of service, wasn't he. ]
no subject
Though that did not mean he didn't fix a pout on him when his very serviceable chair started shifting beneath him. But he recognized a dismissal when he heard one. Very well, he would consider himself uninvited for the time being, soothed enough that Gale left the invitation over.]
You should. Eat something, drink something, rest. Avoid exploding yourself as best you can.
[The vampire leaned up, cool lips pressing a kiss to the center of Gale's forehead, dangerously close to something genuinely affectionate, lingering longer than he really had any reason to before drawing back.]
Yes, well, in all honesty I don't know how hard I'll be looking for other arrangements. People are starting to question all the dead sheep...
[Messy business. He didn't exactly want the world to know what he was. Gale and Tav and the others had accepted his nature remarkably well; he doubted he'd be so lucky every time. Astarion stood from the wizard's lap, dropped a dramatic bow, hands twisting in an elaborate flourish in his direction.]
Rest well, my dear.
no subject
Well, Gale's world shifted and he was not quite sure how to precisely deal with that. Perhaps he would spend a few moments thinking on it, or even more importantly overthinking as was his wont to do. The kiss though took him by surprise, his eyes widening slightly-- the cool press of it and Astarion's own confidence. How could Astarion do that as if nothing was wrong? As if nothing has changed.
His eyes softened in a way where it he thought he was wearing his heart on his sleeve, but really perhaps for someone who was just as inept with dealing with feelings, it would be nigh unnoticeable ]
I will do so.. do you have any suggestions for what I should eat that would replenish the supply? I have never before made it the habit of offering myself up as a snack to a vampire before. [ that was said as a tease, but perhaps also as a sincere question ]
no subject
[Astarion informed him in perfect deadpan with the raise of an eyebrow. If Gale could tease, then so could he. And he would. It was, after all, how the two of them had interacted to this point, bickering and squabbling, taking remarkably gentle shots at each other -- well, remarkably gentle for Astarion. He knew he had a tendency to be cuttingly sharp with his tongue, but most of his jibes at the wizard were relatively gentle. Relatively.
He stepped closer, lingering, a last excuse for touch as he made certain that Gale's tunic was properly closed -- no cleavage showing, Gale. Let's not be so wanton, mm?]
I'd imagine meat would be best. Something hearty.
no subject
When his voice came out, it was huskier than normal. ]
I think that we have determined that at the absence of magical items, you are taking the edge off; and you know that my boots are fine Waterdhavian leather, I will not be eating them.
[ And because he knew that Astarion coveted his boots, he did turn with a fwish of his wizard robes, and it was in such a way that the robes thereby swirled around his ankles and that very gleam; this was a far different tease coupled by a smirk. ]
no subject
[And what a snack, Gale. Really. Astarion patted that now properly put away chest gently, almost fond. Couldn't be that though, no, of course not. His eyes narrowed though as Gale made a little spin to flash said boots at him.
How dare he really. Astarion would stew in his coveting.]
Mm. Well, then I'll continue to admire them from afar, clearly.
[Though not that afar.]
I should leave you to your rest.
no subject
And despite himself, the feeling of Astarion partaking of him, seemed to bring that need to the surface, it was the feeling of arms around him which he knew he would be a fool for. ]
Knowing you, the pining from afar will end up in you pining right up against my boots; and that is fine-- you are welcome to attempt to steal my boots, though I cannot guarantee that you will succeed.
Sleight of hand check nat 20 RIP Gale of Waterdeep's not so deep pockets
How confident?
As he sauntered by where the wizard was holding the door open for him, he slowed, moving closer, not quite touching but absolutely putting himself well within Gale's personal space.]
Oh, darling...
[He purred.]
You'd never even see me coming.
[He breezed past, out the door, before holding up a small pouch and waving it over his shoulder without looking back. Gale might recognize it as his pouch, that had until quite recently been at home in his pocket. Astarion's now.]
Well then, let's just see what is in that pouch, yes?
When Astarion went back to his rooms, he would find that there were money there; suitably of the Waterdhavian Sugar Wizard (spell scrolls and books did not come cheap), he'd find 20 plat, which was a good amount of money. But deep underneath those jangling platinum coins was a locket, and when Astarion opened it up.. he would find the picture of a spellbinding woman whom could only be this Mystra that Gale had spoken of.
If Astarion wedged the picture out, he would find writing on the back of it, 'To my Favored One and my Dearest Wizard, a token of my love.' ]
So it's to be war, then.
The locket though, that earned all his attention. He opened it and found himself frowning at the picture. Gale's goddess. Gale's admittedly beautiful goddess. He wasn't sure why that stirred up such distaste in him -- wasn't he? wasn't he entirely certain why? -- but he of course had to try to pull the picture out. The message on the back earned a vaguely nauseated groan. Gross.
Gale would never see the coins again, but the next time he exited his current abode, he'd find the locket hanging from the doorknob. The portrait of Mystra was replaced, though quite deliberately upside down because Astarion was petty and had no problem showing it. More important, when Gale opened the locket, he'd find a small piece of parchment folded up. If he bothered to unfold it, he'd find in surprisingly elegant and unsurprisingly flowery script: 'You can do SO much better.']