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
[He holds up his hands in a no argument here sort of gesture.]
Though I arrived with a woeful lack of anything on me.
[He was unarmed, and he did not like that at all. At least the Illithid had the grace and manners to leave him with his daggers.] So we may be at the mercy of the locals to ask for some tinder.
[He looks around, hands coming to settle on his hips.] Hmm. Is that an inn? Presumably they'd have a hearth with a fire burning. Perhaps we could beg an ember.
no subject
Lae'zel looks in the direction of the supposed inn.]
Gather what pages you can find, I'll acquire the fire we need.
[She is quick to turn and walk toward the building.]
no subject
[Lae'zel to deal with the people and Astarion to do the physical work? Nono, this sounds like a mistake all around to the vampire. But there she goes and he only grumbles softly to himself as he looks down at the first sheet of paper quite warily.]
Why am I always left to do all the dirty work?
[The drama is provided free of charge it would seem. He leans down and, seeing how it affected Lae'zel, picks up the offending piece of parchment by its corner and the tips of his nails.
It almost works. Until it doesn't and the pain comes. Astarion has known pain, known torment, but this is a fresh hell that somehow runs parallel to his own suffering. He screams, a shrill and tortured sound before he flings the paper back at the ground. The pain is slow to subside, and unfortunately it leaves a bloodthirsty rage in its wake.
A furious, raging, hungry vampire. What could go wrong here? Sorry, Lae'zel. He shouldn't have been left unsupervised.]
no subject
Speak. Do you have your mind or not?
[The log being the 'or not' approach.]
no subject
There's a moment where all he does is hiss, a guttural, feral sound, looking like he may fling himself at her and attack. He hears the words though, but his mind grapples with them, warring with the pull between himself and the memory of that searing, overwhelming pain and fear that touching the parchment had thrust into his mind.
Clearly failing the ensuing wisdom check, he lunges.]
no subject
So be it.
[She tries to step out of the way in the hopes of batting down the log onto his back as he oversteps.]
no subject
He's also not exactly thinking clearly, so even as dexterous as he is, when she steps to the side, he's already committed to the motion. The log strikes him square against the back. It would've knocked the air out of him, were air something he actually had any use for. He howled, half in pain half in rage, wheeling about, one knee to the ground to glower at her and running again, looking like he fully intends on clawing her eyes out if he's given the chance.]
no subject
[She goes low. This time she swings for his face. If it hits, if he manages to fall back, she has every intention to try to overpower him to the ground.]
no subject
He lifts a hand to his now bruised and slightly singed face. For a moment that rage wars with confusion, until the latter eventually wins out and he winds up holding his poor, beautiful face.]
Ow. Was that really necessary?
[It was. He knows it. He's still near shaking in the aftermath of what just came over him.]
no subject
I once told you that if you ever gave me so much as a hungry look, I'd drive a stake through your heart. I have not kept my word. Yet.
[She looks disgusted. With herself. Although her eyes are still glaring him down.]
You should be grateful.
no subject
[But he sighs as he rubs at his poor bruised face.] And yes, grateful. Thank you, for knocking some sense into me. And not murdering me in the process.
[Really, respect, Lae'zel. He means it.]
no subject
Were these parchments not the cause, I would not have hesitated. That much I can promise you.
[She walks over to the parchment since the crisis seems to be averted for now to set it alight with the embers left in the log.
But just as it touches that parchment and smoke begins to rise, the paper explodes. She's pushed back and skids on the ground, barely managing to keep the log in hand.]
Tsk'va!
no subject
Fuck his life right now in general.]
Perhaps burning is not such a good option after all. Maybe we just avoid them. At all costs. Forever.