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wasteyard mods ([personal profile] wastemods) wrote in [community profile] wasteyard2019-05-18 02:36 pm

THE SKY WENT OFF-WHITE.

WHO: Anyone and everyone.
WHAT: Our inaugural test drive meme.
WHERE: Anywhere in the world core.
WHEN: Whenever your character arrives.
NOTES: Expect surreal horror and possible violence. Please use common sense when warning for other content.



Art by Basile Godard

THE SUNLIGHT SPLINTERED.

You reach the end of the ash-gray hall at a run, hands fumbling for an antique door handle. And then you stumble, fall, tumble—any number of adjectives, depending on where, exactly, the door opened—into a radio station.

The equipment is old and dusty, but devoid of cobwebs to the observant eye. And it's dark, save for whatever light makes it through the windows. They display disjointed locations; perhaps one shows an upside-down tower, while its neighbors frame the crumbling pavement of a rotting car park and the stripped out interior of a sewer. Whatever the case, peering through one window reveals a landscape that impossibly doesn't connect to the next.

The door is still there, the only exit to this grubby room. It opens somewhere, anywhere else in this distorted world. And once you leave, it no longer leads back whence you came.

Where do you go?


THE LIGHT, DIVIDED.

A sun on one horizon, a full moon on the other. They're luminous but unreal, like they were plucked from a sky and pasted to a flat, starless backdrop. You can see only one, depending on which side you entered; it's essentially random. Both "sides" overlap like alternate dimensions and you can't see anyone who isn't on the same side as you. Light or dark, you walk in the light of a muted sun or an overbright moon. It never feels quite real.

Neither star nor satellite seem to move from their position. The passage of time is at a standstill.

Regardless of which side you're on, you'll find signs that you aren't alone. What someone does on one side affects the other, so moving an item or writing something down will translate to floating items and mysteriously appearing letters. Speech doesn't travel...unless there's a radio. Radios may turn on and off, with voices audible through the white noise. And if you walk past a mirror, the reflection isn't your own. Instead, it acts as a window to the other side.

In-character observations:
  • Anyone sensitive to time, space, and related dimensional shenanigans will feel they're distorted. And it isn't something they can fix, at least not with powers.
  • It's possible to cross dimensions if a character has related powers, but they'll suffer backlash and significant stress from the transition. Successive jumps aren't gonna fly.
  • If a character is affected by the sun or moon, they'll find neither holds sway over them here; e.g., vampires can walk in daylight and werewolves won't shift in the full moon.
TL;DR: Whatever this is, it isn't natural.


THE SHADOW REALM.

Outdoors, there are shadows on the prowl.

Silent and eerily insubstantial, they trail after you like blind spots given form. Staring at them too long is unsettling but, for the most part, they're content to watch you back...if they can watch. They don't seem to have eyes.

When that isn't enough, however, they attack. Stealing the shape of monsters from other worlds, they may lack special powers, but that doesn't keep them from being dangerous. When in doubt, you're safest indoors.

But maybe that isn't good enough for you. Or maybe you just fucked up. Either/or.


RADIO WAVES.

If you aren't wondering how you got here, you're probably at least asking why. Unfortunately, there doesn't seem to be anyone around who can answer your questions. Everyone else is as clueless as you.

But, some time after you arrive—whether it's days, hours, minutes, or seconds—the dead air stirs. The atmospheric pressure drops and playhouse lightning arcs across the facsimile of a sky. It's a storm that warns of what's to come, as an earthquake shifts the ground beneath your feet. Around you, buildings flood, and water pours out in falls only half aware of gravity. Wind hurls debris at such high speeds, it turns into shrapnel. Rain pelts you from above and below as the temperature plummets. It starts to snow.

Somehow, the sun and moon remain visible through the turmoil. A collection of mirrors scattered through the world don't reflect their light; instead, it passes through them and illuminates the other side. These specific mirrors, all set in ash-gray frames that match the halls, are untouched in the unfolding natural disasters, and standing before them will shield you as well. Consider them havens in the chaos, proverbial eyes in the storm.

In the dark, a radio turns on of its own accord. Is someone—something—talking to you?


INTO ALL OUR DARKEST FEARS.

Welcome to THE WASTEYARD's first test drive! Some quick things to remember:
  • Our TDMs tie into the game plot. As such, any applicants can keep their TDM threads as game canon.
  • The network is exclusive to in-game characters. TDM characters can only use radios.
  • There is a language barrier, so please mention what language your character speaks somewhere.
  • We don't have a fixed day ratio; instead, you pace yourself at your discretion.
  • Characters may face backlash when using any powers.
  • Mark if your character is on the sun or moon side of the divide. The choice is yours as the player.
  • If you have any questions, please direct them to our FAQ!
And that's all, folks. So take chances, make mistakes, and get messy!


omniavincit: (bullet holes and scars between the space)

I'm sorry about him...

[personal profile] omniavincit 2019-05-25 09:48 pm (UTC)(link)
[ William doesn't notice the footprints trailing after him—his focus is reserved for what's ahead. He's half-convinced his own markings will overtake him, the landscape shuffling at random or maybe anticipating him. Maybe learning. All of which is to say, he's too absorbed in possibilities to pay much heed to actuality.

Until the line—because that's what it is to him, a line—appears. Deeper than his. William holds his breath waiting, willing something more to happen. When it doesn't, he studies the single cut. Prods at it with his knife. ]
What is this? [ He murmurs. XI. Eleven? That seems like a stretch, even to him.

He moves several paces to the right and, for lack of a better idea, sets about carving the year he left his life behind: ]
MMXXIV
Edited 2019-05-25 22:01 (UTC)
ragnarsson: ([17.32] So who is this)

Likewise!

[personal profile] ragnarsson 2019-05-26 02:45 am (UTC)(link)
[Ivar looks as more letters appear in the dirt. They look more like the English alphabet then Norse runes, so he's not sure what they mean. They don't even use Roman numerals in the era he's from. In Norse runes, the one that resembles X means N, so it just seems like a bunch of nonsense..

As a reply, he carves his name into the dirt in the runes. ᛁᚢᛅᚱ]


Edited 2019-05-26 02:45 (UTC)
omniavincit: (with the sun in my eyes)

[personal profile] omniavincit 2019-05-30 04:12 pm (UTC)(link)
What the fuck? [ William breathes, a bright, bright note in his voice. Louder than intended, but there's no one to hear him. He backpedals, eyes still on the runes, as though to give them space.

He waits, voraciously patient, for whatever comes next. That the runes are unintelligible to him hardly matters. The intention behind them, that's what he wants to understand. Invocation? Warning?

It's a long while before he approaches the carved symbols again. This time, there's a formality to the way he draws his knife and kneels down. He has no idea where to start, so he begins with the roots: a sprawling, tangled network. He's unpracticed with the knife, his work at once careful and clumsy. It's slow going—he has to stop to adjust his grip, rest his hand—but he keeps at it. By the time he starts on the trunk his cuts are deeper, more certain.

Somewhere along the way, he shifts from his knees to his side; somewhere along the way, he nicks himself with the knife. It's nothing more than a distraction, a moment spent swabbing at his hand, but in addition to the slow-forming tree, Ivar may notice a drop or two of blood springing from seemingly nowhere. ]
ragnarsson: ([12.12] Sacrifice)

[personal profile] ragnarsson 2019-05-31 07:48 am (UTC)(link)
[Ivar watches as what looks like a tree begins to form. Perhaps it is Yggdrasil, the World Tree? That is what the symbol would represent among the Norse. As he watches, he sees the splatter of a few drops of blood appear on the ground, as if there is some invisible being that has been injured.

The drops of blood intrigue him. If Billy were able to see the Viking now, he'd see something rather bizarre. Ivar dips a finger into the blood in the dirt, smearing it, and then licks it off. Hmmm, tastes like it might be human. When one participates in as many rituals involving drinking both animal and human blood as Ivar has, there comes a point when the difference between the two becomes apparent upon tasting it.

Going back to the drawing in the dirt, he tries to decipher it. Is this meant to say something about where they are? He assumes they have to be somewhere within the Nine Realms still, he's just unsure of which world that would be. So he writes a single word in the dirt, runes that form one word: 'Yggdrasil?' The question mark doesn't look like a modern one would. Much as words evolved, so did symbols. Instead, it's more like a jagged lightning bolt with a dash through it.]
omniavincit: (pic#12264102)

sorry if this contains any Rune Inaccuracies!

[personal profile] omniavincit 2019-06-09 02:27 pm (UTC)(link)
[ It's funny—this time as the runes appear he feels a prickle of irritation, reluctant to drag himself away from his carving. The roots could be more extensive, the branches aren't quite right. But stop he does, setting down his knife to watch the lines form. Picking it up again to tap idly with the flat of the blade.

The symbols are as cryptic as ever—even thinking they're words is a leap. ]
But okay. [ It's that or nothing, so time to make some assumptions. The doubled rune at the beginning of the word...well, he knows what he'd like it to mean. The fact that there are apparently nine letters, not eight, trips him up. William traces the runes with his knife, deepening the cuts. Rubs absently at his neck.

He circles the word. If that's what it is. ]
ragnarsson: ([19.6] Use the terrain against them)

No worries!

[personal profile] ragnarsson 2019-06-10 06:20 am (UTC)(link)
[Ivar waits to see what will happen next. The marks he's made that spell out Yggdrasil seem to deepen, dug further into the earth. Then a circle appears around the word. Is this some sort of confirmation? Yes, that's what was being drawn?

What is he even communicating with here? Some sort of unseen ghost? This whole situation just keeps getting stranger and stranger, but Ivar's determined to see this course of action through to the end.]