[MU] - DECEMBER STORYTELLING / MEMORY SHARE

[lifeaftr_mods]

Something is wrong.

This may not very well be obvious, at first. The Storyteller is not present to put forth yet another diatribe, informative or apologetic, and the backdrop of guttering flame and sandy campfire is as present as ever...albeit briefly.



Those who tell their stories will start to notice something...odd taking place. Indeed, no matter how they intend to begin their tale, the land of Mu will immediately start to warp to accommodate it, or something utterly unlike it, until storytellers and listeners alike may find themselves in an exact recreation of a seemingly random memory, in the most stark and painstaking of detail. There is no altering the memory, nor is there any preventing it once it's begun to play - you will simply have to witness memories that are not your own this go around.

Furthermore, stories that take place in worlds other than LifeAftr will be, frankly, inevitable. Those memories, too, will be recreated, to be relived by the teller and lived by the listener.

---

It is time, once more, for you to tell a story...with a slight twist! This is, in fact, our first player plot, as provided by Dragon! The initial setting will be familiar for oldcomers, and newcomers will recognize it from the introduction they received in their dreams.

Yet for this Storytelling only, people can imagine whatever stories they wish, from both their homes and their time on LifeAftr, as long as they don't mind the fact that others will be reliving those stories in the form of an impromptu memory share.

Even those who prefer not to voice their stories aloud are not safe this time around. If the memory is recalled in essence, Mu will shift to accommodate it in full.

There is, however, a benefit to this: those who venture memories to be relived will receive both a befuddled apology from the Storyteller, who will assert that this was most definitely not meant to happen (they're the Storyteller, not the Rememberer!), as well as a tired promise that the relived memories will be worth two offerings each, as if in compensation.

Not that it counts for much, probably.

Comments

I. you who i called brother

[scourgingstars]

[The first tale was that of a memory which had nearly been forgotten.]

[Some of it was blurred as if the early morning dawn over a desert--scarred by scorchmarks and remnants of a battlefield--were painted in watercolor carelessly running together. The hastily constructed canopy in the middle of the scarred earth remained clear, however--as did the young man standing beneath it. Barely older than twenty, he was slender and wearing a greatsword nearly as tall as he was in a sheath on his back. Wine-red hair in an artfully disheveled ponytail was pushed from hazel eyes as he spoke to the group of injured soldiers and civilians alike; marred by sand and ash, he looked as though he'd been fighting just as hard as the scattered survivors. And much like the blurred surroundings, his voice was unclear as if heard from underwater and over a great distance.]

[Whatever was being said, the young redhead gestured enthusiastically with both arms (a familiar sort of dramatics that would someday be refined into smoother and more theatrical motions) while a taller swordsman with long silver hair and diagonal scars cut across his face stood at the boy's side in silence. This near-forgotten memory was the tale of a war that had long since been lost to the passage of time. The story of a brightly smiling young man whose very existence had been eroded along with the decay of sanity. Even now the sense of purpose and confidence that radiated off the smaller swordsman felt as if it were experienced through a thick filter.]

[Despite that, the events unfolding were clear as day; a small gathering of people around what amounted to a base camp after a terrible battle. Most of them suffered pitch-black marring their skin like a terrible rash. One after another they approached the young man with the greatsword, and one after another he would take their hands in both of his own. A gentle and warm glow like sunlight manifested at the redhead's touch, and with it the plague within their skin would slowly recede and drain away as though it had never been there at all. The silver-haired man at his side rarely seemed to speak, looking to the healer while the formerly afflicted offered endless praise and gratitude--as relieved as if they'd been pulled from the very brink of death at no more than a touch.]

There...that was not so terrible, Gilgamesh. [The healer pulled his sleeve down over black markings on his own skin, running like cracks in a pane of glass. He looked paler now that all was said and done, tired and worn down yet still smiling.] As long as we establish proper lighting by nightfall, the daemons shan't return. [It was a familiar voice which could finally be heard clearly from the healer, once the last few cured had at last dispersed. Lacking in the perpetual tone of mockery and arrogance, but unmistakably the voice of-]

Ardyn-! [Before the scarred swordsman could answer, another voice cut in. The healer turned at the sound of his name in the one voice he knew better than any other...]

[...to be met with an identical face strained by worry, hazel eyes made too bright by lingering adrenaline. Usually the more put-together of the two, the recent battle had left Ardyn's near-mirror image just as disheveled, shorter red hair cast haphazardly out of place in much the same manner.]

You needn't shout, I am right here. [Ardyn quickly closed the distance to lightly grip the other redhead's shoulders and smoothing sand-dusted hair from his eyes, finding his identical twin blessedly uninjured and without visible infection.] And you are just who I wished to see. I need you to start back toward the city to deliver word of the night's events. And please, fetch supplies so I might begin extending the power grid; we need an outpost here to protect those that might not reach the capital before dark.

[In the distance, the spires of a highly advanced city's skyline reached past the clouds, so high that even the occasional airship which drifted through the clear and bright skies passed by rather than over them. It stood proud in stone and metal as a magnificent beacon of the civilization for which it served as capital: Solheim.]

I...yes, of course I can do that. If you're to remain here for today I shall borrow Philomela and be there within the hour. [said the second brother, scrambling to cover what looked like uncertainty.] But Ardyn, are you not tired? You-

[A light laugh cut off the other twin's concerned protest, Ardyn grinning brighter than the morning sunlight as he guided his brother towards a waiting black chocobo.]

You've nothing to fear, Izunia. I've Gilgamesh to look after me, so you need not let my safety cloud your thoughts. Once we've everything in hand here, then I promise you we can return home and rest before setting out once more.

[Izunia smiled, though it was a hesitant and worried gesture. They said their farewells and the younger twin set off for the magnificent skyline; leaving Ardyn's smile to fade slowly. The confidence he'd shown the crowd and the genuine joy and relief at seeing his brother were retreating, overtaken by a deep and cold exhaustion with a chill settling itself deep into his body as the scourge he had taken from others grew twisting roots in the healer's blood. Gripping the arm that bore hidden black markings beneath fabric, he spoke quietly as to be heard only by Gilgamesh.]

...have they gone? Is anyone within sight, is my brother-?

No one. [The man with silver hair stepped closer, bracing a gentle hand in a clawed gauntlet against Ardyn's back as if he knew what was coming next.] One and all have turned to salvage and recovery in the wake of the night's horrors.

Ah--that's truly a relief to hear. [His tone drifted vaguely as the scenery began to blur and run together even more drastically than before. Astrals, there was so much work to do and yet he was so tired. Ardyn's legs buckled and he fell against Gilgamesh's side, the swordsman moving to catch the young man as if this was a completely expected thing all along.]

[The last thing the healer was aware of, as the blurred-watercolor scene ran together and began to fade into the fire and darkness of the island...was a gauntleted hand brushing hair from his eyes, and a gently comforting tune hummed by a sworn protector.]