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vestigechat2020-05-12 11:48 pm
vestigemods) wrote in vestigechat2020-05-12 11:48 pm
Entry tags:
inaugural tdm of unspecified duration.
VESTIGE TEST DRIVE MEME
WHAT IS THIS?
- This is a test drive meme for Vestige is a musebox-game successor to The Box (yeah, the one that died like five years ago). It's invite-only with no activity check and almost no application to speak of.
This is a horror jamjar based on Cabin In The Woods, in which characters are pulled into this containment zone run by the Technicians working from a lab underground with the goal of creating Good Quality Suffering™️ to appease the elder gods who hover on the verge of creating a worldwide apocalypse. But of course, suffering is pointless if everyone is too numb to properly suffer, so there are plenty of morale boosts provided in between bouts of fear and misery.
This TDM is ongoing and will fill the gap between now and when I get around to setting up the comms. There is no official start date and currently literally nothing but this TDM available for perusal, but I'll update this section of the blurb as that changes. Threads in this TDM are welcome to be game canon once this shit opens because fuck it. If you have questions, feel free to ask in the top-level below or just wing it tbh, we'll be doing a lot of winging it up in this shit.
Characters arrive with all powers intact and carrying all items that they had with them on their canonpoint.
Also, feel free to hit up the Intro + Friending meme to network with your future peers in this suffering endeavor. (EDIT 5/20: We also now have a DISCORD SERVER! So hop on into that if you'd like.)
PROMPT 1 ► just your ordinary cabin in the woods
⬛ARRIVAL + GENERAL PROMPT
- Whenever you're from or wherever you were, you awaken now with the mildest of headaches in a medium-sized wooden cabin. Maybe you wake in a bed, barely padded and covered in dust (so are you now, congrats!). Maybe you wake on the floor, arguably softer than the bed in spots thanks to some handy dandy water damage. Either way, you certainly aren't where you were before, and you have no recollection whatsoever of arriving.
The cabin is modest but multi-roomed and fully kitted with a kitchen and cozy living room. Nice, dry wood sits stacked by the fireplace, and if you check the various switches, the lights turn on with only the faintest protesting static. The cabinets are surprisingly well-stocked, as is the fridge, with perishables and non-perishables alike. As if someone has been here recently... but how, when everything else seems so thoroughly abandoned?
Should you choose to ignore the cabin's supposed hospitality and try to leave, you'll find that both the front and back doors are securely locked, in a way that no amount of fumbling with the locking mechanism seems to remedy.
That's when a sloooooow creak draws your attention to a door nearby, one you may not have noticed before... but it's open now. Was it before? Better yet, should you check out what lies beyond?
PROMPT 2 ► who's up for some fighty-fight, kids??
⬛MONSTER HORROR.
- The basement is musty and dim, though a pull-string at the curve of the creaky stairs seems to turn on a sparse row of lightbulbs dangling precariously from the ceiling along the center of the room. This little bit of light illuminates a room absolutely packed with items, furniture and boxes and various knick-knacks of unknown and questionable origin. Spiderwebs litter nooks and crannies, many with actual spiders still nesting inside, and a layer of dust coats most every surface in sight.
- A child's drawing, of what appears to be... shit, what even is that? Is it a bat? Is it some kind of... reptile? We just don't know. (result! warnings for gore/violence.)
- A light-blue paper face mask, the sort used in hospitals for patients who have a cold. Maybe you guys should've brought masks too. It sure would keep all this dust the hell out of your nose... ( result! warning for body horror! )
- A buzzsaw blade, dusty but intact. ( result! warnings for gore/violence. )
- A music box, covered in faded yellow flowers. I wonder what music it plays? ( result! warnings for gore/violence and Alarming Children. )
- A funeral urn. But... It seems that someone glued it shut around the edges? I guess that's one way to make sure nobody spills grandma. ( result! )
It doesn't seem like there's anyone down here, nor is there any sign of an exit at the basement's far end. There is, however, something that catches your eye. An item, one that your feet seem to carry you toward without your mind quite telling them to do so. Perhaps it's familiar somehow. Perhaps it's so foreign to you that you can't help but get a closer look. One way or another, you somehow end up reaching out to touch it. But what harm can that do, a single touch?
Oh, sweet summer child. Haven't you seen this movie?
- Whatever else your characters might touch, to activate this prompt they'll also touch one of the following five items:
These enemies can and will follow characters outside, should they try to flee. It might actually be a good idea to face these foes outdoors where it's less confined, provided they don't stray too far from the cabin (see prompt #4).
The blurbs are just guidelines, feel free to scale up or down how strong/weak the monsters are, how many there are, etc. in order to better fit your characters' level of capability. The Technicians know your characters' strengths and weaknesses, so they'd know how to send enough to make this challenging but not insurmountable.
PROMPT 3 ► congratulations, you fucked up
⬛SURVIVAL HORROR.
- Perhaps you didn't touch anything in the basement. Hell, maybe you didn't even set foot through that ominous basement door. But hey, we get it. Not everyone likes to party. You're not getting off easy, but at least you can say that you didn't fall into the trap.
If, by the time an hour has passed since the creaking open of the basement door, no object has been touched and no baddie has been summoned, you'll find your nose assaulted by the prevailing smell of smoke. One glance out any window tells you why: The cabin has been surrounded in it, an oblong ring of fire six feet thick burning tight along the exterior cabin walls. You're safe inside for the moment, but how long will that last?
Now, you have no choice but to try to escape the blaze. It overtakes the cabin quickly, creeping up over the rooftop, shattering windows and burning a path inside. No matter which way you try to run, you're almost certain to get burned... But that's certainly better than burning to death in here.
PROMPT 4 ► "escape"? never heard of her.
⬛PSYCHOLOGICAL HORROR.
- For some, staying in this creepy cabin with its stupid locked door was never an option. Maybe you break one of the windows and crawl through that, or maybe you're angry and OP and punched a man-sized hole in the wall itself. Hey, we're not judging. You got yourself outside, and that's what counts.
The outside of the cabin is... actually pretty nice. Picturesque woods, birds singing, perhaps a couple of deer bounding through the trees not far off. This place might actually be relaxing, if it weren't so alarming and kidnap-y. But it is, so it's time to get the fuck out of Dodge.
Or to try to, anyway. Just a few short meters into the trees, you find yourself entering a deep and all-encompassing fog. You can barely see your hand out in front of your face, let alone your path through the forest ahead. If you're not alone in this venture, you'd best keep a hand on your companion lest you lose track of them, as well. And is it just you, or is there a slight chemical taste to the fog that you're breathing in?
(Yes. The answer is definitely yes.)
Before long, you find yourself turned around, stepping back out of the fog with the cabin in front of you. Little do you realize that simply turning you around is the most merciful fate that this fog has to offer.
- This is easier to break down without narrative, so!
- The first time your character ventures into the fog, they're just turned around and sent back to the cabin.
- The second time, they hallucinate things that they don't want to hear. Something they fear, something that hurts them, something that stresses them the fuck out. Maybe a character's worst fear is wildcats and they hear one growling just out of sight in the mist. Maybe instead they hear a loved one crying for help back in the direction from which they've come, drawing them back to the cabin. Or maybe they hear the voice of someone they admire berating their cowardice or stupidity or something, for running away from the cabin in the first place. The goal is to psych them out and send them running back to the place where the action is happening.
- The third time, it's the same but full-blown visual or even physical hallucinations. Basically anything that might lure, scare, emotionally wound, etc. them into going back to the vicinity of the cabin.
Characters are welcome to start off venturing into the mist together, or to discover one another while they're already in the mist. If it's the latter, look out - it may be harder to tell friend from foe when you can't quite trust your own mind.
THE LOOP ► a note on replayability
- Regardless of which prompt your character faces, they'll be left unbothered after the creature is defeated or the problem is overcome until sunrise the following morning. Though the fog still keeps characters from straying from the area, they're welcome to recover and lick their wounds in the immediate cabin vicinity. An unburnt cabin leaves them food and resting facilities, while a burnt cabin... Well, at least the fire never spread from that self-contained ring, so they have some nice unburnt grass to sleep on.
Come sunrise, all characters still awake will fall unconscious. At this point, many of them will reawaken in a perfectly undamaged cabin back in Prompt #1 to begin the loop anew. They may have the same comrades in this loop, or perhaps they have different ones. Maybe their new companions have done this before as well. Maybe they're brand new and have no idea what they're up against. R.I.P., you poor unsuspecting fucks.
This is, in effect, a series of trial runs by the current batch of Technicians to see if they're able to run this containment zone scenario long-term. When Vestige opens properly, characters will awaken free of the loop and will have quite a bit more continuity and recovery time between horrors. The 'loop' mechanic is specifically in place to give this TDM some shelf life and let y'all entertain yourselves while I work on the actual pages and such, rather than the one-and-done feeling of the usual TDM.
eliot waugh | the magicians
[ so. some things happened.
1. eliot woke up in the least luxurious accommodations possible; if he wanted to go camping he'd do it at a hilton, thank you so very much.
2. he discovered at least he wasn't alone, which was both a blessing (quentin) and a curse (todd). ugh, can't he even get interdimensionally kidnapped without the human stain copying his every move? if he tries to invent a drink for any reason, eliot decides, he'll just have to kill him.
...uh
so far that occasion has not arisen. surprisingly enough. what has, however, was todd traipsing off down the basement stairs immediately, where eliot was perfectly willing to leave him (because he's seen this movie) but quentin, who's definitely seen this movie at least four times, insisted they rescue him from. they found his boring, perpetually stammering ass contemplating a shelf full of obviously haunted knick knacks, just waiting to demonstrate his complete and utter lack of genre knowledge by touching like, everything. fortunately, he'd only gotten so far as picking up the child's drawing and announcing it was a pretty weird dog before eliot's incredibly long legs could carry him within slapping distance.
which he did, and while sure, it was just slapping the picture out of todd's greasy little hand, the ringing sensation and subsequent yelp are feelings he will always cherish.
3. upstairs, the unexpected nothing that had happened stopped happening, in that a pretty weird dog had dropped from the ceiling and made todd's chest cavity into soup.
and there ends story hour with uncle eliot, as this is where we find our heroes now, facing off against, you know, whatever. a big fucking monster. which has smushed todd (good--look, don't judge him) buuuut has now set its sights on them (bad).
..................... fine, he didn't really want todd to actually die, but he'll nurse that guilt later. ]
four; for EVERYONE; if need be, we'll fudge the shit out of that shit continuity-wise.
[ eliot, always op and more so when angry, broke a window with magic the first time he ventured out into the befucked wasteland that surrounds this cabin; he will find it charming some time after the fuckyouth of nevervember. despite a general tendency toward impulsiveness he didn't just stride off into the fog unprepared, either; he had light, he had the means to defend himself (feeling, at the time, the best defense was a good offense), none of which turned out to matter when he found himself right back where he'd started, and had broken another window from the outside out of sheer pique.
of course, that spate of very manly bravado was back before he made a second attempt and was stopped dead, or at least disconcerted as shit, in his very tracks. he knew that voice, and it was one he had hoped fervently to encounter never again. in fact, the last time he met even the hallucinogenic avatar of its owner, eliot fed him to cannibals.
so. now he's hovering just on the edge of the fog, trying skittishly to assess what direction he might take as to circumvent even a possible encounter. are you the first non-father person he encounters? what a coup for you!
shifting POV like we're in a text rpg (shut up, a different one): you find yourself in the presence of one (1) very tall, very anxious ostensibly human looking person, crowned by a mop of fabulous curly hair and--uh, well, it looks like, an actual crown? ]
Sweet brickshitting fuck, am I glad to see you. You haven't encountered any other doomed souls around here, have you? [ what would normally be a beat of considering pause, but eliot manages to effect this without actually pausing at all ] --not that it matters, this one deserves to be doomed. Anyway, he'd be about so high, probably bemoaning the fate of this country what with all the minorities having voting rights.
[ ... in his defense, he comes by the daddy issues honestly. ]
no subject
Nope.
Just a whole lot of nope. Just nope after nope coming out of this guy's mouth.
After a few seconds his eyebrows level out, his expression slips into something a little keen, a little wry, a lot scrutinizing. ]
No doomed souls, no, but I'm pretty sure a tree just told me I had nothing to live for.
[ So... there's that.
He did also momentarily hallucinate the voice of his dead mother, but that sort of seems like the kind of thing you don't announce to strangers in the first five seconds of meeting them.
Anyway, he knows it isn't real - it's his second time, his second day rather, trying to navigate that shit. ]
no subject
ah--yes. yes, he's immediately distracted by what is, to him, far more of an every day occurrence than having to deal with his father. his entire being promptly becomes a burbling fountain of please no, sort of like a man who has just washed his car only to have a bird shit on it right in front of him. ]
Talking trees?
[ so this should clue him in as to how like, a bunch of shit is fucky and weird and probably hallucinogenic? yes?
no. ]
Great, now they're delivering inspirational messages. It's fine, they're probably still pissed about the whole ...arborcide. Thing. If you run into one again just tell it the perpetrator has been properly punished, or something. Oh, and also dryads can go fuck themselves.
no subject
There's another short pause wherein Ian's nose wrinkles up, his mouth scrunches, those eyebrows go knit.
Bluntly: ]
Don't get me wrong, I dropped a lot of shrooms in college so the idea's occurred to me, too, but I'm... pretty sure there aren't any dryads running around here in what I assume is the pacific northwest.
[ It's mild, though. Conversational, like they're talking about the fucking weather or something. ]
Working theory is they've spiked the fog with some kind of hallucinogen, but hey, you never know.
[ So, uh. You trying to get the fuck out of here together or what? ]
no subject
of course, he didn't mean that as prophecy. he was going on the hopeful assumption that descending the basement stairs armed with genre knowledge would instead save todd from a violent end but... well, you can only do so much for the guy who goes poking his fingers at creepy child paraphernalia.
and it is a violent end, so harsh and sudden that an airy and high-pitched cry of jesus catches in quentin's throat when the— the thing lands and the unfortunately echoy space fills with the sound of both cracking and squishing. his hand flies out to scrabble at eliot's elbow, hooking fingers into heavy fabric to try and haul him backwards. quentin's blinking eyes remain trained on the monster as it sets its sights on them, already interested in rounds two and three of utter bodily destruction. 'cause that must be so much fun.
again, he's seen too many of these scenarios play out into disaster to have much faith in their chances of getting back up to ground level unscathed, but he's back-pedaling in that direction anyway, still with a death-grip on eliot and focused on not touching anything else on the way. ]
Eliot, [ his voice is surprisingly calm if you can ignore the clack of his teeth colliding. ] we should probably—
[ get the fuck out? well, yeah, but he's just had the fortunate realization that they can both use magic, and so with a touch of reluctance, he releases eliot. quentin takes a single step up to his side, mindful enough to eliminate the danger of friendly fire, before open hands eclipse each other in front of him, arms extended when the fingers of one hand slip into the spaces between his fingers on the other hand, bracing his palm for the sudden blast of energy that surges forth.
his aim could have been better, he'll admit it, but the magical rush clips the monster's shoulder and tattered wing with enough force to knock it from todd's limp body, crashing into the wall and shaking dust from the crossbeams above them.
quentin huffs in the world's tiniest triumph, showered in dirty confetti, then promptly returns to the task of moonwalking his way out. ]
no subject
I need your neckcloth,
( if not the peremptory familiarity of her assumption that he will give it to her. he is glad to see her! obviously! this makes perfect sense, because clearly he knows exactly who she is, and will give her his neck cloth because, )
Did you break the window? I am maybe going to die.
( she is probably not going to die. she also knows enough about impromptu field medicine to know that. )
And no. Who are we punching in the mouth? I am bleeding, Eliot, give me your thing. ( what is cravate in english. )
no subject
Oookay, for one: this is imported Lorian silk, woven by the asses of silkworms I have personally spoken to, and for two--it's an ascot. Honestly, you look like someone who should know her neckwear.
[ .............. what a compliment? Anyway, she actually is bleeding, so okay, he's about to give her his neck thing anyway when he remembers, right, he can do magic. ]
Besides, makeshift bandages are so pedestrian...unless you're in a World War Two drama. Then they're kind of sexy. [ he goes dreamy eyed a second, perhaps imagining two nurses and three handsome soldiers tending to his wounds. ] I've got something sooo much better.
[ please note, eliot does come from a world where revealing magic to non-magicians gets, at best, one's memory erased, and at next best exiled forever, but in fillory it's just so normalized he's sort of gotten out of the habit, and while this is most definitely not fillory, it's even more definitely not upstate new york. meaning it's probably some other bullshit plane of existence and he's too annoyed to exercise any kind of caution whatsoever; naturally this is quite a change from his usually prudent self.
he gestures, elaborately. ]
Permission to penetrate your personal bubble?
[ since for all he currently knows, despite how she appears to know his name and also that his father is just so imminently punchable, she is a total strangerette, and that kind of permission is good to get, so a person doesn't get stabbed.
narrative assumes blithely she's going to do this, and also stare at him like he's an insane person for asking, so eliot finds the least offensive plot of dirt possible and hunkers down on his knees next to her. he rubs his gIANT HANDS together like he's trying to warm them up, brow creased in concentration; while sure, his brain is big enough to have socked away a few basic healing spells, he definitely flunked this class. this doesn't stop him from trying, despite how trying might result in opening a fucking artery or something.
he presses his palms flat, each set of fingertips pressing and then pushing away from each other until it looks like he's made a bridge tunnel, then lines forefinger and thumb straight up, the rest of his fingers still crooked horizontally. the movement, recognizable or not, brings with it the sensory impression of a plunger pushing down in a syringe; when he turns his hands so they're perpendicular to his body, his forefingers trace the line of the cut, where luckily for them it does not open an artery, but instead seals the skin to just a faint pink line. a better healer wouldn't even leave a scar, but please, eliot's skills are in drinking making and occasionally slicing a person in half. ]
Et voila.
[ he's basically the coolest, he knows. ]
no subject
it's extremely cool, and she didn't even need his ascot (fuck you, eliot, she knows it in french), and now she isn't bleeding. those are all extremely positive things that don't explain why she's just jerked her knee into the other so hard that the collision makes a sound or why she's looking at him like he's grown a second head and maybe the second head called her a cunt because otherwise the expression of bewildered betrayal just doesn't make any goddamned sense. she'd already been looking at him suspiciously, and by all reasonable logic from where he's sitting she should be less suspicious now that her leg is fine. not more.
but if eliot could do magic then she'd know about it. she would know. and magic isn't even real—or not magic that looks like that—she is almost sure. but he would have told her; they are alike, he doesn't have secret things she doesn't have, she is the secret thing he has. he doesn't even look like he's in pain.
he's crouched low enough that she can easily reach him, so she follows her first impulse to take his face in her hands and push him this way and that, like she's trying to figure something out, like the light will hit him just so and this will make sense— )
This is another trick, ( in a tone that suggests she is building towards her own violent outburst at whatever and whyever they're trapped here, her voice like a fist hitting a window— ) you aren't my brother.
no subject
Third time has not been the charm. There's a bloody griever on his trail and Newt is not about it.
click-click. Whirrrrr. Buzzzz. click-click.
The metallic noises of the griever's far too many weaponized legs, saw blades buzzing, pinchers snapping, and he doesn't really want to think about what else, only grows louder as the metal-spider gains on him.
He trips over a tree root the fog had hidden and barrels directly into another person in the fog. "Shit. RUN!" He doesn't bother trying to explain any more than that, just tugs on the bloke's wrist with a solid yank and urging him to follow along.
a million years later ayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy
The fog alas did not end up being any less nightmarish. Voices jeering and calling to him. Calling him a coward and a good for nothing, not fit for his family name. Trying to run from them only brings him back to the outskirts of the fog, the cabin a looming presence that he doesn't want to deal with again. Feeling defeated and at a loss of what to do he doesn't even notice the other person there until a whole lot of expletives are volleyed his way and a giant curly haired foreigner is apparently talking at him.]
There was- I was-
[He clutches a folded fan in his hands, wringing them together. Had he been with someone else in the fog? Everything is such a daze.]
I-I don't know. There were so many voices in the fog, I can't be sure if any of them were even real or not.
[Sorry, Eliot. You've bumped into one shooketh young man who isn't sure what's going on either.]
no subject
[ whether you mind or not, eliot, jaskier is whipping out a small leather bound journal and jotting it down regardless, a bard's work is never done, after all. the rest of eliot's question can wait until he's done and tucking the journal away again, however, at which point he starts paying a bit more attention to eliot himself, and a very flattering sort of attention it is at that. ]
Oh no, you're the first person I've laid eyes upon out here, though you certainly are a sight for sore eyes at that.
[ he can't pretend to recognize the crown or the person wearing it, but jaskier is well prepared for any level of high society he might have just stumbled his way into in this moment and sketches out a pretty little bow of introduction. ]
I am Jaskier the bard, and might I inquire as to the identity of the charming company I find myself with now?
hi i wrote 75% of this a week ago, i am queen of suck
(the other ones are older and daddy, but since i play the only one of those here that's. not happening. anyway.)
despite jaskier's already scribbling, he curves a hand around his chin, giving every indication of due gravitas. ]
Have at it. My eminence is undeniably and imminently quotable.
[ meanwhile he gets his own bow on, involving the many miles of limb that were remarked upon in a much earlier version of this tag, a few curls that do whatever they want escaping the magnificent red crown and flopping over his forehead. ]
I'm Eliot. High--former High King of Fillory.
[ if jaskier detects a hint of resignation in that, he is correct. on the other hand if he detects 98.7% relief, that's correct too. now that they have the formalities out of the way he doesn't per se undress his equally charming company with his eyeballs, but there's definitely some like. sexy ocular disheveling? ]
Right. Let me save you some time, and more importantly trauma inflicted on your virgin ears. If you hear anyone calling you from out there, trying to get you to trippety-traipse out there to rescue them--
[ or in his case uhhh slap them, as the case may be, but never mind. he gestures with exactly the right amount of drama (there is no such thing as too much!!) out into the fog: ]
--do not, under any circumstances, go down that primrose path. Nothing good awaits.
clearly i have usurped you for that position
at the very least he's much taller and nicer to look at. which counts for a good deal more than people would like to admit.
jaskier pauses for a moment in his writing when eliot introduces himself, and appears to straighten up slightly, eyes alight with new interest. ]
A former High King, well now I am honored. I'm afraid that I'm not familiar with the land of Fillory, however. My apologies.
[ something almost like a giggle escapes from jaskier's mouth at the description of his ears as 'virgin', before he shields his mouth from view with a coy hand, though his eyes still dance with visible mirth as he offers a correction. ]
I'm afraid no part of me has been virginal in a good while, but I appreciate the warning for what it is. I wonder what sort of creature could be responsible for such trickery though.