Good Morrow mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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goodmeme2023-10-06 06:18 pm
morrowmods) wrote in goodmeme2023-10-06 06:18 pm
Entry tags:
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
The young wizard is startled out of his increasingly dark thoughts by the water getting dumped on him. He sputters and coughs and the arcane fire goes out. He takes a few moments to collect himself and then he gives a little bow. "Thank you for the assistance...that could have become a problem had you not arrived when you did," he says quietly.
His tone is polite but it carries a note of worry in it. His accent sounds vaguely German but there is a musical quality to it that marks it more other than pure German. "I was a fool to pluck that page out the air as I did, but we wizards are drawn to the new and it is hard to resist it's call."
no subject
He waves a hand at the thanks. "You're quite welcome. We recently abducted probably ought to stick together, or at least not let each other burn alive. And, no offense intended of course, but even without the flames, I think the impromptu rinsing may have done you some good."
Stepping forward he shifts his now empty bucket to his left hand, setting his right against his chest and dropping a little bow of his head in turn. "My name is Astarion. And you are?"
no subject
"Caleb...Caleb Widowgast," the young man replies in that same quiet tone. He doesn't move but the tension in his body speaks of an urge to bolt as soon as any movement is seen. Unlike any wizard Astarion might know, Caleb is dressed in clothing that is near to being rags. then actual clothing. This is a man used to living rough and not really caring about his needs more than he has to to keep himself on his feet.
The water has mudded the dirt on his face and in his hair turning his auburn hair a mudded brown and then mention of the water helping clean him a little bit makes him blush. "I have not had much time to....clean up while on the road," he stammers, "it has been a rough few days for my friends and I."
no subject
Instead he summons up his most charming smile. "Of course, of course. I do understand. I've found myself unexpectedly on the road and slogging through the wilderness as well. It's not at all what I'm used to, and it does take its toll, doesn't it?"
no subject
Caleb watches the stranger, his body still carrying that tension. There is a keenness to his gaze as well. He may look shy and unsure, but he is taking in the information handed to him and processing it quickly. "It is," he says carefully, "but I am used to traveling and never really staying in one place for too long. Safer that way."
"Where did you come from friend...I know an elf when I see one and yet you are different from the elves that I know."
no subject
At the next question he lifts an eyebrow. "I am an elf, you're right about that, certainly. I'm from Baldur's Gate, though as of late I've found myself exploring the countryside a bit... unexpectedly. And what about you? There's something about your accent that I can't place, though you remind me a bit of the human wizard I've been traveling with, of late." It's probably the beard.
no subject
Astarion will see Caleb's expression take on a wariness at the question. "No one you would know," he replies as he has never heard of Baldur's Gate before and he knows the Cerburs Assembly would not be in a city that was unheard of. But he isn't going to spill his secrets right off the bat just because he thinks he's safe now. "I hale from Zadash now but I was raised in the Zemini Fields...that is the accent you hear."
The mention of another wizard does make him relax slightly. "Your wizard friend is he here with you? I would like to compare notes about this place."
no subject
That had been Gale's thought at least, and Astarion was willing to admit the Waterdhavian wizard likely knew more about the way strange arcane tricks worked than he would. Speaking of, he nodded at the question. "He is, as a matter of fact. Not sure where he's gotten off to. Gale is distractable." A pause before he adds, "But he is a talented fellow, as wizards go."