[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

Monster Changes Are A Hell Of A Thing [Ryslig] (cw for gore and body horror)

[onegreeneye]

In a dingy, run-down little motel room,Mugen, a young man with bushy black hair and a long, furry tail lies stomach-down on the bed while something bulges under the fur and skin of his back. He presses his fingers into his own shoulder, brow furrowed as he feels out the bony joints, just under the skin.

Ginko stands by the bed, tense and unsure, but not touching him, his hand resting on the bedside table where a few medical supplies already sit. His voice comes out hesitant, but quiet and level. “...If you’re really sure, we could try it. But this isn’t something to be done all at once - I can start to cut them out, but if it seems like it’s not going to work, I’ll stop.”

Mugen forces himself to lie down flat on his stomach, giving a quiet snort. “Havin’ trouble thinkin’ of anything worse that could happen than what’s goin’ to anyway. Still got that little knife?”

“Yeah, hold on.” Ginko doesn’t waste any time in retrieving a small pocket knife from the messenger bag sitting on the chair next to the bed, along with rolls of gauze and bandages. Then he kneels down by the side of the bed and presses the point of the knife carefully to the skin of Mugen’s back, where it traps the structures underneath against his back. “Try and hold still.”

Ginko makes a quick cut, and Mugen lets out a quiet hiss as the partly-developed wrist joint of a batlike wing slides through the slit. “Keep going,” Mugen snaps. “The other side. Do it.”

For a moment, Ginko hesitates, his gaze fixing on the exposed muscle of the growing wing. “Are you--” He shakes himself, and nods. “Alright.”

It’s not done growing, true, but it can move, and… he’s not an expert on changes like this. He can only trust that Mugen can tell what is and isn’t working.

He moves to the other side of the bed and makes a matching incision, leaving the wrist joints and thumblike claws of both wings exposed, the appendages struggling all the harder - and, inch by inch, something like knuckles and fingers starts to pull free with a sick sucking sound, and Mugen starts to scream.

The wings push and stretch the remaining skin, and, after a moment of fascinated horror, Ginko steps in and slices into that connective tissue again. Within moments, the remaining skin tears, and snaps, and a pair of newly-formed bat wings, skin and fur growing over them by the second, burst free, sending stagnant gore splattering all around the room.

For a few moments, Ginko’s senses are absolutely clogged with the scent - and, to the horror of his remaining human instincts - taste of blood. He lifts a sleeve to wipe the blood away from his eyes, and speaks up wryly. “Feeling any better?”

Mugen, who seems to have been taking out his frustrations on the pillow, only replies through a mouthful of fabric and stuffing. “Thhcrew thith.”