goodmeme | TEST DRIVE MEME

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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.

arrivals | forbidden knowledge | ooc notes

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.

ooc notes

Thanks for checking out this setting! If you have questions, feel free to direct them to the first thread below.

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Arrival.

Do you want the short version, or the long version of the speech?

[ Shadowheart doesn't look like any of other arrivals and that's because she's not. Her robes are a little nicer, for one, and she's wearing clothes underneath them and shoes. She doesn't look disheveled, and some people call her Sister instead of novitiate which suits her just fine.

Shadowheart has been here for three years. Three years of toiling in the cold. Three years of wondering if she'd ever see Faerun again. For the first two, she'd railed against their cult and screamed curses at them and prayed to her Lady to guide her. And then, when it became obvious that Shar would never take her home and, indeed, that Shar was not even listening, Shadowheart finally decided that it was futile.

The terms were laughably simple--ironic, really--when they'd offered. A few memories for power. Whether she was hoping that in this trade she'd feel Shar's grace again and be able to channel Her divinity or if she really had bought into these Old Ones it was hard to say. But after a year of pretending, she'd become pretty committed to the cause. Indeed, Sister Shadowheart tended to livestock as well as her neighbors and was a frequent participant in the community garden.

But her trade off had been for almost nothing.

Still, if nothing else she's standing here now, watching initiates come out naked and confused and in pain. Something in her heart stirs as it always does, as if her healing magics might be just a word away. But they aren't, of course. And all she can do is offer what little information she has. ]

Welcome to the village.

Forbidden Knowledge.

[ Shadowheart puts herself to the letter of the task--collect the pages, don't read them, turn them in. She knows nothing good will come of disobeying and nothing good will come of magic that falls from the sky in this place.

But...if they want a full tome, doesn't she have to look a little? Make sure she's collecting the same ones from the same book?

And, says some part of her that's been frozen away for three years, don't you want to know? Isn't there knowledge in power? Isn't that what She--

Shadowheart stifles that thought and instead, when she sees someone trying to read a page calls over: ]

Hey! You're just wasting time.

( Steve Harrington is, in fact, standing with a page gripped in both hands, holding it mere inches from his face as if that might help him suddenly decipher the almost-familiar-but-not-quite script on the page. He's so engrossed he almost doesn't realize that someone is shouting at him, but her voice snaps him out of his focus and he glances up with a comically puzzled frown. )

Well excuse me if I'm not used to — ( He gestures wildly with the page, to, uh, basically everything. This place is weird. These people are weird. This is just weird. ) — whatever this is. Look, I just think these pages have to have, like, I don't know, clues or something. Do you have a better idea?

[ Shadowheart crosses the distance to Steve and attempts to snatch the paper out of his hand, if she can manage it. She's not putting up a lot of an attempt, though, so he might still be holding onto it after all--especially with how wildly he's gesturing with it. ]

Oh, what a novel suggestion! The pages have clues, is it?

[ Her laugh is bitter, derisive. She'd cared about clues, too, when she'd first arrived. But no longer. Clue were for people who thought they could go home. But she knows better. she knows that fate is cruel. ]

The better idea is to collect them an turn them in. You'll be rewarded. Handsomely.

[ The last word doesn't sound confident. What's even in Revelbrooke worth receiving? ]

Edited 2023-10-07 22:12 (UTC)

( She does manage to get the page away from him so Steve, now empty-handed, crosses his arms across his chest and settles into a pose more appropriate for a forty-five-year-old father of three than an eighteen-year-old kid. )

Yeah, clues. As in, you know, ways to get the hell out of here. I don't know if you've noticed? But I didn't exactly sign up for this Dungeons and Dragons crap.

( He knows, deep down, that this is not just some "Dungeons and Dragons crap." He's no expert but he can guess that playing games in silly costumes doesn't usually include kidnapping and the kind of bone-deep pain that only comes with something very, very bad and very, very unnatural.

This is something else entirely.

The thing is, he's so tired of something-else-entirelies that he'd rather act like a stubborn jackass and refuse to believe the evidence that's right here in front of him. At least for a minute. )

And anyway, ( he goes on, arms still folded firmly across his chest, ) I don't care about any kind of reward, unless it's a one-way ticket to Hawkins.

( And with that, the first cracks in his stubborn facade start to show, because he has a feeling they're nowhere near Hawkins, and thus must clarify — )

Uh. Indiana.

[All right, first and foremost, it is unfair that Shadowheart has somehow found herself better quality clothes than the absolute rags that he's been granted. But he'll deal with that gripe later. Thre stronger emotion by far is that he's grateful to see a familiar face, and a decently sensible face, even if she's a bit too bleeding heart when it comes to ~~snacks~~ woodland creatures than Astarion can truly understand. It's fine.]

Oh yes, hilarious. Welcome indeed. And I'd like the shortest possible version, especially if it ends with a way for us to get back where we belong. I'm sure you haven't forgotten that we have important matters we're meant to be attending to. And if we are going to take a holiday, I'd prefer it be some place far more palatable than this hells forsaken place.

[ Shock plays out on Shadowheart's face when she realizes it's Astarion who approached her. It fades away as she listens to him go on, replaced by a frustration with his words and his blase tone. Of course he thinks this is nothing. Of course he thinks there's a way to just leave.

But Shadowheart knows better. She schools her expression the way her superiors do (the way her superiors did, back when she still acted in service of her Lady), trying to project a calm she does not feel. She makes a note of the fact that time apparently hasn't passed at all back home, given that Astarion hasn't asked her when the hells she went.

That's fine.

It's fine.

It's all fine.

Shortest version, alright. ]

This is village called Revelbrooke. You've been summoned to worship the Old Gods. There's no way home and all our powers are gone. I've been here for three years. We're more likely to die than ever see Faerun again.

[ a beat, and then ]

Any questions?

Three years?

[Sorry, he's going to get to each and every detail of this and likely be dramatically infuriated by all of them. That first though.]

I saw you hours ago, at most. [But looking at her now, he frowns. She's not actually lying, is she?] Three years, well, I'm certain you've missed me terribly in all that time.

[Who wouldn't. He refocuses, frowning as he tries to let all this sink in.] I have no intention of dying any time soon, nor of worshiping any gods -- old or new. It's hardly my thing. No offense, dear. Your Lady seems [Terrifying? Domineering?] ...lovely.

[ Shadowheart's expression falls at the mention of Lady Shar, a crack in her mask. She looks down at her feet for a moment and it probably tells Astarion all he needs to know about the reality of the situation here.

When she pulls herself back together, there is no mention of her Goddess. ]

You don't have to worship them if you don't want to, but you'll never get your powers back if you don't. If the tadpole still works, I haven't seen any indication of it. So...

[ she gives him an appraising look over ]

Maybe be careful with the sun.

[Well, still Shadowheart then, if that's a bit of a weak spot in her metaphoric armor. Interesting. But yes, there is a sinking feeling in his stomach as the fact that the cleric is indeed serious about being trapped here.

It's when she mentions that the tadpole that Astarion's entire demeanor shifts. Eyes widen and even if it ought not be possible, he turns even more pale.]

...no. No it must still be doing something I am still...

[He is still his own person, and if anyone threatens that he will rip them and everything they have ever loved to shreds with his bare hands.

He forces himself to take a breath that he does not technically physically need and straightens up.]

So if you've been here for years already, surely you have set up something of a life, yes? Perhaps a place you might invite a dear companion back to while we sort this out?

[Just going to. Invite himself over.]

[ Shadowheart does feel bad for him, for the way he frets over it. But she's long come to terms with this place. His problems can't catch him with him any more than hers can catch up with her. She's been inviting her problems in for three years now. But not once have they accepted ]

Sure, I'll invite you over. You're welcome to stay with me if you want. Novitiates are expected to study, though. And it'll reflect badly on me if you don't at least try.

[ But there's something about the way that she says "try" that clearly means "pretend." ]

The housing is better than what you'd have otherwise.

[There's a faint easing to the line of tension in his shoulders at that response.]

I've done my share of studies in the past. One does not become a magistrate through charm alone.

[A pause and he adds, quieter, the flippant tone dropped from his voice for a moment as he speaks, a rare genuine,] Thank you. I would appreciate that, very much.

[ The shift in tone surprises her and she becomes a little softer for it too. It seems that even three years of hardship haven't totally iced her over. She gives him an apologetic smile, for the circumstance. For the place they're in. For the future they're going to have to deal with.

And then, for both their sakes, she laughs: ]

Don't thank me yet. I'm going to put you on chore duty. Which would you prefer, Astarion, milking goats or picking crops?

[The immediate look of affront at the mere idea of being asked to milk a goat or labor in the fields is likely comical to everyone but Astarion who may be living his worst nightmare here. He recovers in the next moment and shakes his head with a chuckle of his own.]

I'm touched you'd trust me with the goats.

[Hells knew he'd eaten far worse.]

If you eat my goats, I won't have cheese.

[ Yes, this is the life she's leading now. She's taking this very seriously. There's little in the way of hope here. But you know what there is? Goat cheese. ]

I cannot be liable for any decisions I might make if I don't have goat cheese.

Edited 2023-10-08 04:13 (UTC)

[An amused snort of breath, and he ducked his head.]

Duly noted. I've manners enough not to want to get between my gracious hostess and her cheese.

[Gods forbid, really.]

I'd like to know more about this place, if you're willing to tell. I do hate feeling unprepared.

[Essek has managed to collect several parchments that contain runes and glyphs- it is the only thing that is even remotely interesting. Mundane paper is what the word is- mundane and of no use, and the other one is just a waste of time.

His eyes have been darting quickly and expertly over the pages, never actually stopping to study them fully- never so out in the open- but to find similarities between the pages and try to connect them to anything he remembers.]

Gathering knowledge is never a waste of time. [He finally tears his eyes off from what he's reading, just in time to prevent it from blowing up.]

[First Aid stares up at her with an odd mixture of relief and horror, his arms wrapped around his mid-section as though he fears his body will soon fly apart.]

Ah...the long one, I guess? Especially if it comes with an explanation of where you people acquired this body, and how you put me inside it?

[He genuinely doesn't know which would be worse: if this body was purpose-grown for the sake of containing an abducted Cybertronian, or if it actually belonged to somebody else first. ~~And if it's the latter, where is that person now??~~ If he thinks about it too hard, there's a non-zero chance he will completely lose his composure and have some kind of panic attack. He's in a human body, that's the kind of stress response he's vulnerable to now.]

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TEST DRIVE MEME

shadowheart | baldur's gate 3

forbidden knowledge

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Arrival

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Forbbiden Knowledge

Arrival