Xistentia: Mod (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spoofer) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
xistentiaooc2017-10-28 04:56 pm
spoofer) wrote in xistentiaooc2017-10-28 04:56 pm
Entry tags:
Test Drive Meme #6 (tw violence)
Test Drive Meme #6
I want neither revenge nor relief.
CRASH LANDING
Exit one dimension, enter the next. It was chaos: pressure against your ears, light bending in an impossible, unimaginable way. The very molecules of your body vibrating against one another. If you have windows, the view outside makes no sense. Even if not, your hands, your face, your feet seem like an uncertain thing. It's the feel of reality itself tearing apart, reshaping, reconnecting, thread by thread.
And suddenly, there's a beach— or ocean, whichever you land in. Smoke. Fire. Salt water churning up, fizzing around.
Maybe you crash, in a ship wrecking into sand. Maybe you merely stumble out of a portal, a ragged wormhole in space. Or maybe you fall off the back of an incredible steed, some creature that carried you into this place. Either way, there's pandemonium around you. Incredibly, severe injuries are far and few between— nobody's screaming about the dead. But you might have to help pull someone free of wreckage, or move quickly to salvage burning belongings from the landing craft. Maybe it's the crafts themselves, that you're trying to salvage.
Likely, you don't know them, these other strangers who arrived here[1]. Maybe you don't trust them— you just came out of a dying world, after all. But you all have one thing in common: you're here now.
When you get a second to breathe, maybe you'll see it. The brilliant green forest across the sand. Beyond that, the glint of a faraway city.
BATTLE WITH D.E.S.T.I.N.Y.
November has barely begun, when chaos strikes again[2]. Perhaps you've had weeks to settle in, finding yourself a new home and getting accustomed to the neighborhoods... or maybe you've had no time at all. Your daemon warns you of a massive invasion coming from the West, the ocean where you first arrived.
The enemy has come for you again. D.E.S.T.I.N.Y., the cosmic threat to not only your homeworld but the entire Multiverse.
When the violence makes land, it's shockingly similar to the exit from your original world, yet mashed in with the experiences and genres and world details of other refugees— soldiers in red armor wielding weapons of all kinds, both advanced and rudimentary; airships, bizarre monsters; firestorms and quakes that seem sentient in the way that they move, pursuing people through the beach and the forest. You see the injured and the dead, and people running in panic. Heat and gunfire break up the ordinary peace of wilderness, driving animals into stampedes and filling the sky with panicking birds.
There are children and doctors and engineers among the many refugees of Xistentia, and not everyone can fight back— but maybe you're one of those who can.
Think fast— that's a crimson spear launching at your head now.
The city's defenses are buckling too. While ordinarily, the civlization possesses unnatural physics that subvert violence, the onslaught starts to wear agains them. The only safe place is the Temple. Here, civilians and injured combatants are banding together to try and boost morale... which coincidentally also can boost the defenses of the land by with the energy collected from emotional connectivity. For better or worse, there is plenty of negative feeling to go around, the air thick with fear.
Whether you're recovering from injury or afraid to fight, you can still contribute here. Tell a story, sing a song, make a meal out of one of the cookfires started in the hallway, or even help with medicine. One thing is for certain: we're in this together.
NETWORK
Today, it's peace time. By now, the city of Xistentia has a population of over 500 people. Shops line the streets of downtown, and increasingly well-trodden paths will take you into the agricultural zones nearer to the forest or even down to the beach. There are still distinctive animal presences around— careful with that— but the most common critters you'll see are birds crapping on your stuff outside and tiny winged hairless people creeping your food.
One afternoon, you are taken from whatever you’re doing - taking a walk through the city, sunning yourself on the beach, running around in the forest shoring up defenses - by a message, appearing on your Daemon’s network screen. It’s a simple notification, that reads:
It would appear that your daemon accidentally sent a text message misfire.
CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE
hells yeah
Footnotes
- Some of these can be nameless, plot-device NPCs to facilitate interactions! But even in this case, please avoid gore in describing their current state of being. Anyone dead or catastrophically injured will have disappeared by the time your characters make it to Xistentia. There are no corpses or dying here.
- This is connected to the war plot, coming up in November. Please read the announcement for more information! Features include good, old-fashioned violence, hurt/comfort, and "drift compatibility."
Daken | Marvel Comics 616
[He woke up like he had so many times with the distinct, but familiar, feeling that his body had taken some kind of massive damage. His clothing and bits of debris around him only reinforced the distant echo of injuries. As usual, he was completely uninjured, not a scratch, not a bruise, nothing.
This place didn't smell at all familiar and that, more than anything else, had him immediately on edge. The people around him, other survivors it looked like, were people he'd never met before. He knew that with complete certainty.
Gracefully, he got to his feet and took a moment to brush sand off his somewhat tattered pants and shirt and then run a hand through his hair.
Time to figure out what the hell was going on.]
battle+temple.
[Daken was good in a fight. Very good. In fact, most days he wondered if it was the only thing he was good at. Killing was in his DNA and these creatures felt familiar. His memory was spotty, but he knew they were somewhat responsible for... everything. And now they'd shown up to finish the job. He was prepared to make that as difficult as he could for them.
Unfortunately, not everyone is quite so good and he can't help but sigh as he came across yet another injured fighter, or maybe just an unlucky civilian. They're unconscious, but he can hear a pulse and there's a lull in the fighting. It might also benefit him to endear himself to the locals, so he throws the man over his shoulder and heads to the temple, which seems to be the central place of refuge within the city.]
Medic! [At first, quick glance he doesn't look so great himself. Some of the blood is his own, most isn't, but a closer inspection will reveal no injuries. The man he's rescued, however, will need some attention, but doesn't look critical.]
network/daemon shenanigans.
List your available commands again. Can't I make you not speak unless spoken to? [Daken grumbled at his daemon, a wolverine named IRONYD. He hated it. Everything about it was basically there to mock him. He was sure of it.] Don't look at me like that either. If I want your opinion or your judgments I'll ask you for it.
DAEMON: IRONYD
I want your opinions.
[He glances down when the notification pops up.] ... What message? I didn't tell you to send any message. [He inhales deeply and sighs, muttering under his breath.] You're the worst.
slides in here
Okay, but opinion on what? Best kind of jelly for PBJ? Good bad art?
Whether these shoes go with that dress? I could go on.
You're keeping me in suspense here.
no subject
So that's what it sent.
As interesting as all of that sounds, maybe advice on how to improve your daemon. Is there an upgrade, or something?
no subject
no subject
no subject
Anyways, they grow on you after a while. Like a fungus. But nicer.
battle;
He raises his head, focusing an intent gaze on someone approaching with another wounded. Brow furrowing, the blue boy assures his current 'patient' that he'll be right back and gets to his feet, hurrying over to assess the situation.]
Is anything broken? [he inquires.] If so, we'll need to find someone else to aid with that. [Doing a quick once-over on the person Daken is carrying reveals no grave injuries, but that doesn't mean there aren't internal things to fret over. Then, of course, he has to imagine that the rescuer might have been attacked as well.]
Are you hurt? Here— [he gestures with one hand toward a spot for the unconscious one, beckoning Daken to follow him with the other.] Put them over there.
no subject
[Daken eased the unconscious man down onto one of the empty spots. His focus, however, was keenly trained on the young mutant. Of course, he recognized him. Nightcrawler. In fact, he'd fought and bested the other mutant once. He looked different. Younger.
If Wagner recognized him, he was doing an amazing job at hiding it.]
I'm fine. [He took a seat though and grabbed some water.] Any word as to how things are going? [He picked a little blood and gore out from underneath one of his fingernails.]
no subject
[He's entirely focused on helping the injured person in front of him, so he is mostly oblivious to Daken's stare. That is, until he happens to glance up, peeking over at the other male from beneath his bangs.
Should Daken notice, though, there's no recognition in his gaze.]
Gut. [Is what he offers before he averts his attention back to the task at hand.] If I'm being optimistic, things aren't going too badly. Now, truthfully? I don't know. My opinion has been going back and forth when it comes to who might be more favored in this battle.
text;
no subject
I guess the whole thing with you not liking short shorts is an opinion.
All caps too.
no subject
NAH, I NEVER GOT AS IN, I DON'T GET IT
ALTHOUGH THE FACT IS ALSO I HAVE NEVER WORN THEM
WITH OR WITHOUT REMODELED POCKET LINING.