nightooc | TDM // #1

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! tdm

TDM // #1

TEST DRIVING MEME #1

REBIRTH ALWAYS FOLLOWS DEATH

You died. Sort of. You float, sort of, blissfully unaware in a snug cocoon as both your Self and the world beyond slowly align. You're you still, you think, a hazy awareness as your eyes flutter open, and you see... nothing. A viscous substance blurs your vision, faint thrills of panic coiling around your lungs, swelling in your throat; wrapped in an ectoplasmic sheath, you're disoriented at best, frantically wondering where you are and how you wound up here. Whatever here is. Everything’s fuzzy, perception is limited, movement is restricted... and then it dawns on you, glacial down your spine, the nagging certainty that wherever you were before, you no longer exist there.

You're trapped. Your once cozy cocoon quickly becomes your prison, and an overwhelming sense of dread incites you to escape. On your own, you'll tire rapidly, weak still, unadjusted to the Netherworld's configuration. Scream loud enough and someone might come to your aid, though the process will leave you weaker still; as a new Restless, you go from the semi-sensory deprivation of the Shroud into your new existence without warning or preparation, spilling out of your protective husk breathless, confused, and naked. You're free, but at what cost.

Blink. Breathe. Find your footing. When your eyes get used to the twilight-hued ambience, you'll immediately see more Shrouds, everywhere and ripped apart like a vast nest of broken cauls. Through the emerald fog surrounding you, doors. An endless cluster of them, no frames, no jambs. Your name is carved on one of them, and you don't know how or why you know this, but you do. You'll find yourself inherently drawn to yours: maybe it's a pull, a hum, a light, a quiet sound in the static. Instinctively, you know it's safe, and you know that whatever you'll find within, calling out to you, you ought to protect... but before you run and cross the threshold, your focus wanes, and you catch something in the periphery of your vision...

► I. REAP WHAT YOU SOW

a. A CLOAKED FIGURE STANDS BEFORE YOU, EERILY QUIET. It only stares, faceless, towering well over you as you struggle to find your balance on your weakened feet, the air you breathe in scorching your throat. Your senses are annoyingly muddled, and it's enough of a distraction, perhaps, to overlook your state of undress. And then it finally speaks. The Reaper. It's surprisingly polite, its voice a melodious string of low hissing notes as it calmly explains what and where you are; a Restless, citizen of the Netherworld. You were reborn here for reasons unknown, another soul among thousands with seemingly unfinished business, cursed or blessed to roam a world slowly devoured by an entropic force. Hell? Perhaps, if it suits your beliefs, though some do thrive here, and keeping Oblivium at bay is a collective effort.

Around you, others like you break out of their Shrouds, and some walk the land fully dressed, with an ease that unequivocally evokes the passage of time. They've been here for a while, and it shows. You might catch bits of conversations here and there, learn more about your new home and new purpose from eavesdropping. The Reaper that's helped you out of your cocoon is, unfortunately, a poor conversationalist, though it does point its rawboned finger towards the stormy horizon, speaking of an immense city in the far distance that shelters thousands of Restless and offers essential supplies for all. Stygia. It doesn't stay much longer: without preamble, the Reaper vanishes into a plume of indigo smoke, essentially leaving you to fend for yourself. This is your chance to reach and cross the threshold of your very own door, find some clothes, your Tethers, and a device that'll enable you to reach out to anyone willing to listen. Others like you might have answers on the Netherwork-- chattier Reapers, even. Just watch out. The moons above glisten crimson, and Badaliscus roam in especially high numbers across the Shadowlands, aggressive and carriers of plague-like diseases. If you wander, do mind the giant split in the earth as well, surrounded by blackened soil. You can't miss it, strange, guttural noises coming from its depths. A fall into a drop that steep would be deadly, as no light or hope shines at the bottom of the chasm... though l'appel du vide is nearly unbearable. Does it whisper your name?

THINGS YOU MIGHT HEAR OR OBSERVE
► some compare this place to a purgatory
► an old sage has apparently found a "stairway to heaven"
► another restless' acquaintance has recently lost their battle against their shadow and nearly killed them -- probably because they didn't have a soulmate. they now dwell in the labyrinth with other monstrosities
► some restless can be spotted laughing hysterically, or arguing with themselves
► objects never last unless reforged with a soul's essence
► the hierarchy used to send a welcome party for new arrivals but now seem reluctant to leave stygia -- maybe because new arrivals are now a daily thing, sometimes hourly
► no one seems to know what reapers truly are
► ferrymen never speak

THINGS YOU MIGHT STUMBLE UPON
► small fumaroles that emit occasional bursts of molten lava and splatter anyone nearby
► ragged open pits in the ground that spout boiling water and steam at irregular intervals
► six bones arranged in a hexagon on the ground. they appear to have been gnawed upon and bear teeth marks
► scattered rubies; if touched, they'll start shouting and demand that you "unhand them at once, varlet!!", which may attract funny looks or undesired attention
► withered trees, grass, deserted campfires, various debris, bloated corpses, and fog
► mirrors that reflect the back of the person that looks into them
► a mausoleum. the structure appears perfectly normal at first, but examination reveals that there are no doors to allow entry or exit

if you choose to address the netherwork directly as one of your prompts, reapers or any other npc might reply to you. otherwise, feel free to speculate with other characters!
additionally, if you wind up poisoned or injured by a badaliscus, the occasional scaleberry can sometimes be found in the shadowlands, often rotten and scattered around withered trees. you'll find this kind of information in your smartphone's database, but anyone with healing abilities could also come to your aid: just remember that magic in the netherworld is unpredictable.
lastly, if l'appel du vide is too strong for you to resist, and if no one is able to keep you from falling to your death, a reaper will eventually give you a hand, immediately poofing out of existence afterwards.

b. NOT ALL REAPERS ARE AMICABLE. The same cloaked figure unceremoniously yanks you out of your Shroud, a mouthful of mud and ashes as you brutally land on the ground. You feel everything all at once: the acute pain of your rebirth, the pull of your Tethers, the cacophony around you, and the dull voice in the back of your mind. You breathe, and then you don't, shackles around your neck, your wrists, the gravelly soil grazing your skin raw and bloody as you're pulled by your feet. Your screams remain unanswered, though it might catch the attention of a passerby, should they be brave enough to face your tormentor. Now would be a good time to resort to any skill you might have to free yourself, past your confusion and growing agony, lest you be carried to the Forges. It's the only thing it mentions, laughing unhinged as you approach the shores, where a brittle ship awaits you. The good news is that Reapers loathe water: splash it or try to push it overboard, a distraction that should allow you to strike in some way. The bad news is that the Tempest isn't kind to anyone, especially you, and you're sort of shackled. Rest assured that it'll fight back, tooth and claw, a scythe at its disposal as well as blood-curdling shrieks that might deafen or temporarily paralyze you. Scream for help if you've yet to get any: someone is bound to hear.

► II. OF SOULS & SHADOWS

a. WHETHER YOU'VE FAILED TO FREE YOURSELF OR MANAGED TO BOARD A FRIENDLIER SHIP, you won't escape the storm, a tempest within a tempest.

Grey clouds boil across the sky in a bruise-colored wall, forked lightning and thunder booming overhead. The clouds open, a black and green funnel growing down towards you. As it swirls closer, you see faces, staring out from within and screaming. Gale force winds whip the sails of your ship, debris flying through the air: glass, wood, metal. The ship sways, and you sway with it, the groans of your vessel as it's tossed about in rough waters almost deafening. It's terrifying. If you were being transported to the Forges, the Reaper quickly abandons you, leaving you to your demise. If you were lucky enough to board a safer ship, pay attention. You're holding on for dear unlife as sheets of rain slap against your face, blown off-balance by heavy gusts of wind, but you see them in the raging waves, Restless just like you, shackled and helpless in the storm. You have a choice, your first dilemma: focus your energies on saving yourself and anyone else aboard your ship, or take the wheel and navigate through the winds, screams and flotsam in order to try and rescue them. Coils of rope are available, tarps, barrels and buckets.

b. WHATEVER YOU CHOOSE OR WHEREVER YOU ARE, your Shadow might take this very ill-timed opportunity to make itself known -- if it hasn't already. You're scared, torn, tired, and maybe a little hysterical -- it knows. It's in your head. Literally. It's you, and it's not, a growing onslaught of inappropriate thoughts, impulsive and intrusive as it makes an attempt to figure you and itself out. It's never been sentient before, perhaps even unsure of its purpose for a time. And then, as you struggle against the storm, it speaks:

Enjoying your first taste of sea-salt horrors? You can feel it, can't you. The pull. It's eating at you, subtly, but it's there. You can’t run. You can’t get away from me either, because I’m you, and I’m just as much a part of you as all the noble ideals you hold. All the awful thoughts you ever entertained, all the things you were ashamed of or couldn't bring yourself to say, and all the lies you told... that’s what I am, and you can’t make me go away. You can’t outlive me. I’m going to remind you of all the terrible things you did or wanted to do, and I’m going to get you to do more of them, because you’re still you and you still have all those nasty little urges floating around. Only now I’m here to highlight the opportunities you have to indulge. Don't be shy. If you won't speak your mind, I'll do it for you. If you ever considered redemption, think again. Fight me or silence me if you wish, it doesn't matter. Even if you succeed. I may go dormant for a while, but I'll always come back stronger. I'm your Shadow, and Oblivium awaits us.

Deaded things slam into you, spat out of the tornado. The sight snaps you out of your daze, but you don't have time to ponder whether this eerie interlude was real. It won't speak again, never directly. You'll know it's there, viscerally, as your Self and Shadow struggle to come to grips with this new antagonistic yet symbiotic relationship. If you've never been kind to yourself before, learn how to, because it won't be.

Luckily, this whole ordeal may have left somewhat of a positive mark on you: Sparks. Two of them. It's a light buzz in the back of your mind, a tickle beneath your skin as nether magic courses through your veins, an inherent part of you now. The knowledge of what is happening to you is abstract at best, but it's there, and if necessary, you'll know how to use your newfound abilities:

a. Teleportation, allowing you to vanish into thin air and relocate anywhere you wish, the same way a Reaper would. Usable 4 times.
b. Mind-reading, albeit a bit murky. Think of it as a weak signal reception. Pry some information about the Netherworld out of an NPC's mind, or try to find out what a friend think of you. Lasts 12 hours.

► III. THE ETERNAL CITY

IF YOU'VE ELECTED TO REACH STYGIA INSTEAD OF MATERIALIZING BACK INTO YOUR HOME IN THE SHADOWLANDS, you'll be welcomed by fishermen in the Harbors, and most of them seem... well, a little annoyed, honestly. Additional mouths to feed, and all that. Stygia has been at max capacity for decades, and resources aren't always easily obtained. But they were like you, once -- freshly undead, overwhelmed -- and if they sigh and glower as you pass by, quick to dismiss you, you'll soon be guided towards what seems to be a Notice Board, a map of Stygia pinned just below. Make yourself useful, you're told. If you hope to survive here, better start by earning your keep!

If you're injured, you're out of luck. Hale is currently off-limits -- a collapse, apparently -- but poultices can be found in the Marketplace, bandages, etc. The only problem is... you have no coin, and not much to barter with. Pick a job from the Notice Board if you're willing, or find shelter in Serene: most people there will welcome you into their homes, so long as you don't overstay said welcome. Alternatively, if you ask around, a fellow Restless might be able to help you. Steal if you wish, though be warned that there might be consequences.

Meanwhile, if the thought of returning to the Shadowlands is a little overwhelming for now, you will come across empty buildings and houses all over Stygia, most of them in varying states of repair. They're yours for the taking, if you don't mind cob-webs or shattered windows, but all you have is time now, and a little renovation can go a long way!

As you explore your new environment, you might start experiencing odd and subtle changes...

ooc note

► Welcome to Nightfell's very first TDM! All threads can be considered game canon and may be used as samples if you choose to apply.
► Check out the Notice Board for additional prompts!
► For your convenience: Bestiary, Glossary, Setting.
► If you still have questions regarding the game in general, please refer to the FAQ. For questions specific to the TDM, ask them below!
► We hope you enjoy your first experience in Nightfell!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

of souls and shadows.

(jonas was an easy target for harvesters gathering stock across the shadowlands. sure, he fought one before and he has the wounds on his shoulder and hands to prove it, but he hadn't fought it alone. he and the second restless couldn't stay together, though, not for the entire journey. now, thanks to the decision to return "home" for a brief rest, he's been subsequently dragged aboard a ship destined for the forges.

he's nowhere to be seen on deck. there's a storm raging and corpses float in the water like buoys lacking an anchor; if he wanted to help further his limbs wouldn't allow him. it is, therefore, jonas' prerogative, scared the way he is, to stay out of it.

murmuring will tip anyone searching for survivors off: someone is sitting—cowering—in the two feet of water that's poured in from grates above. behind crates and barrels that have slid the length of the ship's cargo hold, jonas, still shackled, covers his ears and prays until looking up at the splash of another person's approach.)

... Oh, Jesus Christ. Oh, thank god you're here, (he says, voice thick with relief. while it isn't immediately obvious he's been crying, water still beading from his nose and chin, red, teary eyes are a good indicator.) I'm—my chain's stuck. It... It got—I don't know. The ship freaked out and I think the links got caught, but I can't—can you help me? I can't reach.

the eternal city.

("what a terrible omen," an old woman says from over his shoulder. they stare down at the dead lizard together, respectfully silent, before she adds: "you'd better get to higher ground, young man." she wrings her tote bag's strap in weathered hands and says a foreign prayer beneath her breath.)

Sorry, "higher ground"? Why, what's— (his eyebrows raise, looking back) —is something going on?

("my, you must be new; don't you know a thing? if one of them lizards dies and is 'found belly up,' a flood will come shortly thereafter." jonas looks back down at the lizard, perplexed and slightly peeved. it just had to croak as he was walking by, didn't it? his withering stare raises, wondering why god would let this happen. the old woman senses his distressed vibe and gives his right love handle an encouraging series of pats. "there, there, son. it's bad news to bear when you're fresh off the boat, but do your best to tell the seamen by the pier what you saw; this is everyone's livelihoods at stake." business concluded, she shuffles down the winding path through merchant stalls, already whispering the news.)

...

Super.

(jonas hangs his head, refusing to move for a full minute, then slowly walks to the docks. if the old woman is doing her part, it'd be pathetic to forget it ever happened. the lizard's untimely demise and consequent pose after death will influence everyone living along the harbour.

looking left down the line of ships, dinghies, and fishing boats, then right down the line of "fresh fish" displays, busied shoppers, and scaffolding, jonas sighs and cups his hands around his mouth.)

A lizard... died! It's belly was showing! Uh... you all know what that means!

network, un: jonas.

ik this may be asking a lot, but I made a huge mistake and could really use some help. If anyone in the vicinity of Mirth's amusement park rn could get back to me like as soon as they physically can, that'd be fantastic.

Did I mention I could die in here? bc I v easily could. Thanks.

wildcard.

(feel free to hit me up with anything, i absolutely love the chaos. if you wanna plot or add me, i'm over at frooting! new friends welcome!)

[ He's soaked, and whether it's with rainwater, blood, or some stomach-churning mixture of bile and oils he's not sure. It's of lesser concern than its ability to seep into new wounds courtesy of the glass shards the maelstrom has used to slice at his arm, and the decision to go below deck is hardly a choice at all. Down here he has less of a chance to direct the course of their boat, but down here he has more of a chance to find something with which to shield himself.

The steady but arrhythmic thunks of flotsam – of bodies – colliding with the damaged hull almost drown out the sounds of a human voice, but when Jonas actively calls to him he's whipping his head in his direction, sword already readied in anticipation of yet another threat. No. Not this time... this is something else.

Are you sure? comes the niggling doubt in the back of his mind, one he chalks up this time to a well-bred survival instinct. ]

Who are you? [ The wariness in a strained voice is impossible to miss, the kind that makes it sound colder than it might normally. He's on edge just like anyone would be, but he's masking it far better than the teen trapped down here with him. ]

... I can help you, but I need to know who I'm helping first.

What?

(hands come away from his head, which allows water to rush to fill the space inside of his ears. it prevents him from hearing the restless' initial question, muffled, eyes wide as he tries once more to sit up. the metal collar catches on his neck, forcing him back down with a choked-off gasp.)

You're joking. Ha-ha, good one! (jonas shouts, loud enough that it breaks and runs ragged.

his hysteria is tripling as he's hesitated over. waves crash over the deck above, sending more of the cold sea below in an effort to fill up the hold and drown them all.)

I'm... I'm Jonas! I'm Jonas! Can you please just—I'm going to drown!

[ A click of his tongue is drowned out by another wave crashing against creaking wood, throwing him back against the rough wall and into a stumble down the last few steps. Shit.

If forced to choose between caution and action he already knows which he'll side with, and it's that knowledge that has him plunging forward into rapidly rising water. What was once just two feet is now fast approaching three, and they're now two men who are incredibly short of time. ]

Okay, okay– [ Fabric plasters itself to his legs as he struggles to wade through the unnaturally thick water, cursing himself and every second of this mess they've found themselves in as his feet catch on something hard and he all but falls against the teen he's trying to save, a hand roughly clapping onto his shoulder. ]

Jonas? Just hold on, okay, we're gonna' get the hell out of here... [ That sword has seemed to vanish from sight as both hands are plunged into the water to try to feel for the chain that has Jonas tethered to the wall, teeth grit when he realizes what his next move is forced to be. A deep breath heralds his sudden plunge beneath the surface, fingers following links until they reach the wooden board that's bulged out and splintered around the chain. His fist against the wood does nothing, nor does a rough yank at metal, so while the prospect of using magic is unappealing – it's been such a heavy drain on him since his arrival, it feels – he's left without a choice.

A soft light beneath the surface of the water marks the ice magic that envelops metal and renders it more brittle, and a sudden brighter flash is the follow-up that actually works: a dagger summoned right against the chilled block, piercing through the chain and not a moment too soon.

He gasps when he surfaces with a fumbled grab at Jonas's equally heavy, water-laden clothing, doing what he can to yank him up to his feet. ]

Shit, come on, I've got you–

(jonas takes harsher breaths the closer the water gets to his jaw, red eyes squeezing shut on noctis first "okay." it's impossible not to sob his relief when finally he realizes he's getting help and that the sword in the stranger's hand won't be pointed at him but nowhere as it disappears entirely. there's a trick there that he might ask about when they're safe and dry, which leaves jonas with the impression "tomorrow," or "the next day," or "never." his teeth begin to chatter before ice even begins to bloom beneath his neck.)

Careful, (jonas warns, hacking on seawater, but he doesn't criticize noctis' fall for his own sake despite being momentarily submerged. if noctis hits his head or hurts himself, they'll both be screwed.

several painstaking seconds pass without a word.

he tries his bonds, still trapped. he tries to twist, but only encounters what feels like another hole in the ship's hull. the freezing water beyond the ocean's thermocline must finally be flooding up into the hold, and, in his hysteria, he thinks unhelpfully of the titanic. jonas is certain that if the sinking doesn't kill them then hypothermia will; the temperature doesn't stop dropping at a few degrees, it takes a sharp plunge until he can no longer bear to keep still. ice burns at the raw skin of his throat, forcing him to kick out blindly at anything that'll get him free until a sudden and agonizing strike does it for him.)

I-Is it—

(hands grab at him, and noctis doesn't need to expend much effort to get jonas out of the water. he may stagger against the storage wall with the other restless and take down several empty barrels that border it, but he rises fast to escape the next wave that would've overtaken his face.)

I'm out. Jesus, I can't believe it. I didn't think anyone would— (his fingers scrape into the wet fabric of noctis' shirt, taking liberal amounts into tight fists. panicked, jonas is unable to calm down when his body shakes at the experience, huffing heavily over his shoulder.) Thank you. Thank you, thank you.

jonas | oxenfree | ota. :smirk:

of souls and shadows, rip

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network un: gongaganh

i am so thrilled about zack, PLEASE

♥♥ AW YEAH. time for two nerds to get helplessly more lost maybe

none of us is as dumb as all of us

the eternal city

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network; un: keith

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NETWORK (un: am)

opening my inbox today to see THIS

i'm coming for you froot

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of souls and shadows :3

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