lifeaftr | November Intro: We Used to Think Our Words Were Gold

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November Intro: We Used to Think Our Words Were Gold

INTRO LOG: NOVEMBER

Who: New arrivals, and you!
What: New souls arrive to the archipelago of LifeAftr
When: November 4th and onward
Where: Ensō
Warnings: Mark as needed!

Temple: We Built These Walls So We Could Find
With the Storyteller once again regaining control of Mu in the final week of October, the disturbing bleedover of characters' pasts and futures has come to an end; but, as it would seem, some alternative effects have merely been delayed.

The Chamber of Glyphs, which had held steadfast as a link between the physical and metaphysical worlds during last month's event, has finally bent beneath the strain - and, perhaps, due to the Storyteller's increased exertion over both planes. The Chamber, which typically represents a myriad of drawings intended to tell stories, has abruptly become much less tell...and much more show.

Newcomers will open their eyes to a high stone ceiling, punched through with beams of sunlight. Massive stone walls span them on four sides, upon which are endless murals drawn in chalk, depicting island life: a village gathered around a table, feasting; hunters with their bows drawn, chasing down a wild boar; warriors with swords slashing at enormous vipers. Any imaginable tale of wilderness survival adorns the walls, pitching and shifting, almost seeming to animate...

Right out of the walls, in fact.

Indeed, the drawings in the Chamber have come to life, bringing the chaos of their story into the room itself. And they seem quite determined to make your character a part of it. Though startingly lifelike, their features always seem to be fuzzy and indistinct, and their voices a bit too warbled to make out. Whether it be the taste of bitter ink in your mouth when you bite into an apple, or the feel of chalk dust on your fingers as you grip a weapon handed to you, there is a persistent sense of immaterialism in these ghost-drawings and the world they fill the gray corners of the Chamber with. Regardless, they all very much believe that you are a part of the feast, or the hunt, or the battle, or whatever other tale has leapt from the walls. And you are expected to participate.

Of course, any theoretical danger probably isn't real...but do you really want to risk it? After all, it isn't only mundane tales of the faceless that reside here - your fellow survivors, too, have added their much wilder stories to this world. Surely the Chamber would recognize them if they were to be nearby...and remember their contributions.

And Beyond: A Future We Will Never Write
Of course, there are other aberrations throughout the temple to contend with. For newcomers, the major issue appears to be the lack of a front door, while those who have come to visit the temple for any number of reasons will find the front door isn't quite leading to where it should; nor does it seem keen on sticking in one place. The only room within the building that any character will be able to reach is the Chamber of Glyphs itself - but actually escaping the temple may seem a difficult task.

The temple's interior does not help in keeping one's bearings. Though pillars, empty shelves, and even the outline of windows can still be seen throughout the imagery, they appear of have been superimposed into much wider areas of space - the arid, vast wastelands of Monsun. The ash-powdered lands of Chol, still scorched black from the rebirthing of the sun. Even Ai'tuoh, though its streets seem devoid of any life.

Though the eye may believe they have returned to the entirety of the island, other senses may confound and befuddle. Each step is still taken on level stone, the only sounds those of your shoes upon the floor - and the voices of anyone stuck inside with you. Venturing about will prove that these illusions do have a limitation, ending a few miles at most, though the unlucky could easily find themselves exiting one door...and entering a new island room. Exploration could potentially continue on indefinitely - or at the least, until the Storyteller wrangles their temple back into order early the next morning.

Be careful, adventurers. Though cycling through islands you have seen before - the very subject of your stories - there is a chance that those who go too deep will come across a land that is very familiar to some. Twisted remnants of something terrible, heavy with the scent of ash and decay. Bare, blackened landscapes that look as though they may have been blown to fragments. Portions of some foreign and unknown world a powerful strain of dark, volcanic corruption.

If you should find this, it is best to leave as soon as possible. Though the ground may still be safe to stand on, the same cannot be said about the breathability of the air.

All new arrivals will awake with knapsacks, their names stitched to the front. The contents of said knapsacks can all be found in your acceptance notices!

As a final note to those who participated in the Test Drive Meme, bear in mind that those threads, if all parties involved would like, can be game canon in the form of dream-like memories involving a place very much like this one, though the layout is considerably different.

Feeling a tad adrift? Make sure to check the Locations Page, which has details regarding the starting areas and a handy map for those who feel better with a bird's eye view!

LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Not a fan of the Western Block?

[He has no idea what the Western Block is, but plenty of people are willing to talk about home if they're nudged in the right direction.]

[He taps at the door with the back of his hand. Seems solid enough. He throws his shoulder against it, and it opens to Chol - baked-red stone and cliffy terrain.]

...hm. Well, that's somewhere else, at least.

It's a wonderful piece of real estate. The dead and abused bodies even come free of charge.

(Nezumi's an open book about his home, if not about himself. Tim doesn't seem pampered enough for Nezumi to take the same kind of joy in shocking him, but he also doesn't like the idea of people brushing aside and hiding the horrific districts they'd created.)

Somewhere else that isn't the exit. (Nezumi wants to sigh, but he holds it back. He has to seem in charge of the situation.)

But I'm afraid it doesn't change quite as much as this lovely temple.

Hm.

[He's not particularly shocked, no. Tim frowns but nonetheless steps through the door. One hand is thrust into the pocket of his jeans, which have long since lost their bluish denim hue in favor of the mud-colored, worn-thin fabric they've long since become.]

[He half-turns. Again, keeping the unknown variable ever in his periphery.]

Yeah, things definitely aren't supposed to be like this.

(Nezumi's steely eyes glance toward the hand. Casually, he moves further away in case Tim plans to pull a knife from his pocket. He'll need enough time to raise the gun before the blade can reach him.)

Do you have anything else in that pocket of yours? If we mark the trail, we'll at least know we're moving forward.

(But Nezumi knows forward may not necessarily lead to the right path.)

I keep plenty in here.

[He tugs on the strap of his pack once. Doesn't seem concerned that Nezumi might try to thieve it from under him - or maybe he's just content with that by default. Who knows, really?]

But, no. Nothing I could use to mark the trail.

(Nezumi does, he supposes, but it's also a food source. Without knowing how long they'll be trapped inside, he isn't going to relinquish that easily. Nezumi isn't really ready for cannibalism.)

You have that many flare guns, but chalk was too ridiculous to buy?

What can I say? I don't meet a lot of things I can draw to death.

[He has a pen, actually. He hadn't thought of it because - ]

[Well. Because it was Brian's. Is. Was. He doesn't think about it. But he sighs, lets one strap slide off his shoulder so he can go digging through his knapsack anew.]

Might have a pen, maybe. Lemme check.

Then you've never seen a pen stabbed through an eye.

(Nezumi plans on taking the pen so it's not really meant to give Tim ideas. Instead, he says the words casually enough that it's obviously a passing statement, not one meant to particularly shock or test.

People die in a lot of creative ways in the Western District. Let no one say they weren't creative.)

Pen isn't my first choice of weapon, so, no.

[Sure enough, he finds it with enough digging. It's...an unremarkable thing. Scuffed. Worn. His thumb runs up the contours of its casing for a minute longer than is maybe necessary, and he sets his jaw before holding it up.]

All right.

[He promptly chooses to mark their way himself instead of giving it over to Nezumi.]

Let's move.

Sometimes, you don't always have a first choice of weapon.

(Will he fight for the pen? Nezumi considers it, but it's less useful than a knife. Tim is right about that. From enough distance, it's much less useful than even a flare gun.

Tim can keep the pen.)

What kind of animals usually live here? Is there a human population?

I guess. Population of...people, anyway.

[Not all of them count as human. You got skeletons, you got monsters, you got robots, you got god knows what else.]

Most things here kinda wanna kill you, which is nice.

Good. I was worried I would get homesick. But I'll need you to clarify. People but not humans.

Tell me, is it a thirty vampire I should expect? Or an angry werewolf, ready to shred me with his claws? A wicked witch that will use my blood for her next elixir?

(Nezumi makes no show of not believing this.)

[They do have a werewolf, for what it's worth. But Erika is also more likely to beat your face in than she is to wait around for the full moon to do so. Given how, uh, incredibly trusting this kid is, he's not about to bother dropping that bombshell right now.]

I mean they're not all human, yeah. Some of them are...bugs, I guess. Giant spider? She's technically a monster, or whatever, but that's not a..."monster" is a species where she comes from.

[Christ but he hates explaining this part.]

You can believe me or not, but you'll have to deal with seeing it for yourself at some point, so...get used to it, I guess.

I'll get used to when I do see it for myself.

(While he can't trust words, he can usually trust his eyes. Still, even that seems suspect here, considering how nothing feels like it should.

Nezumi pauses. He has to take a step back. It's all ridiculous. Absolutely, utterly ridiculous, and likely not worth his time. Still, he only survived where he did because he was ready. On the very, very small chance that Tim is telling the truth, Nezumi needs to be prepared for giant spiders.

He eyes Tim for a moment longer before looking forward.)

A giant spider. What else?

[The nice thing about all this is that Tim doesn't have a sense of self-consciousness to speak of. He anticipates that very little of what he's about to say will actually be taken seriously, and that's just...fine.]

Well, there's Asgore - he's also a monster, and he's kind of a giant goat-looking...thing. Ed kind of looks like a goat, but he got turned into one, so I don't know if that counts. Ginko's...part rock or something, I don't know. There's a guy who's got bear arms but the lower half of a horse, which makes him like, nine feet tall. Someone who's blue? Some guy who's got purple horns?

Take your pick, really.

A faun, a changeling, half a golem, and a centaur with bear arms. What kind of mixed mythology is that supposed to be?

Purple horns is a new one. Devils usually have red or black. Purple's not even really a demonic color. He should try for more consistency.

(Nezumi isn't taking any of this seriously, but he still makes a note. The centaur sounds like the most dangerous.)

What am I choosing? Which is the most ridiculous? Definitely the centaur.

[Definitely the most ridiculous, but not for the reasons Nezumi thinks. In Tim's humble opinion.]

So, yeah. You'll see for yourself if we can...ever get out of here. [For the first time, a vague annoyance disrupts his exterior - flatlined apathy, emotional asystole, the deft, solemn acceptance of whatever shit gets flung his way. It's rote, and brief, and it's gone in the next minute. Going through the motions. Pretending anything here really sticks.]

Holdover from last month, I'm guessing.

(Brief as the break can be, Nezumi notes the change. Being observant, knowing more than your opponent, and knowing how to use it were keys to survival.)

Hold over from last month, you tell me. Even if you're telling the truth, I wonder at what point you'll decide to just make things up because fiction can't be different from reality. Let me help: have you met a mermaid and fallen into a forbidden love?

[That's twice the kid has referenced love, and that's two times more than Tim needs. He can't really stress enough how little interest he has in that in literally any way he can think of.]

You seem pretty confident on the whole falling in love thing. That can be someone else's problem.

Most writers don't think it's possible to tell a good story without a romance. How else are we supposed to mourn in a tragedy or cheer when our dear hero wins the heart of the heroine?

(There's the same drip of sarcasm in his voice. Nezumi thinks it's a waste of time, as well, but it's true that romance is a common thread among many stories. When people fabricate, exaggerate in order to make their lives more interesting, there's usually a tale of love. Their beloved is never horrid or even plain. That's not worthy of envy. Instead, the god or goddess of beauty themselves were smitten by their heroic deeds.)

[If Tim were the the type of person for it, he'd bark out a mirthless huff of laughter. But he isn't and so he doesn't.]

Guess I'm not the dear hero. [Given the sardonicism in his tone, that's more than fine by him, and he knew that long before ending up here. Winning anyone's heart over is the last fucking thing he wants, thanks.]

Look, you can believe me or not. I don't really care. You'll see for yourself eventually, and you can make up your mind then.

So you've said.

(Nezumi's voice seems a bit distant now as he looks around the barren landscape. This shouldn't be inside a temple. None of this should be here.)

But believing all of this without seeing it would be a form of madness. We're not actually in these areas which means the layout of the building shouldn't really be changing. We have one door. Using it as a guidepost, where would the next be located?

[Madness, huh?]

[That's almost worth a laugh in and of itself. You're talking to someone who's lost his fucking mind already, Nezumi, more times than he cares to count. He's fucking certifiably out of his head. Some pills to keep the worst at bay.]

[Not that he says it.]

I'd say just take a straight shot until we hit the place where the mana pool would be. Which is...I think it was that way, [he says, pointing,] but it's kinda been a while since any of us have been here.

That direction.

(Did he have any reason to avoid it? At worst, it's a trap, but it would break the current middle ground that's getting him nowhere. If Tim goes first, Nezumi would be able to get to him if there are more men waiting.)

Then, that's the direction we'll go.

(Nezumi doesn't trust people. Period. But he knows some people have knowledge he doesn't. In this case, Tim knows the building better than he does.)

Unless you're enjoying my company so much you'd prefer to stay here.

[Tim simply looks at him. His expression is one of flat neutrality, though he lifts his eyebrows very slightly. It's some sort of answer, maybe. It might be nothing.]

[But he moves with the same deliberate care - keeping Nezumi in his periphery, the way he does most things.]

If this doesn't take us the right way, we're heading backwards.

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