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synodiporia_ooc2014-03-29 03:05 pm
powersthatbe) wrote in synodiporia_ooc2014-03-29 03:05 pm
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Test Drive #2
Welcome to the Synodiporia Test Drive Meme! Below the cut there are twofour new prompts, here and here are the prompts from previous testdrives, which you’re still welcome to use here. When you comment, be sure you specify what prompt you want to play with, and please put up your own threadstarter - it makes for a much more friendly environment that a forest of bare toplevels!
Prompt #9 gives a look at what it's like for everyone to be stuck in Liminal Space, & Prompt #10 is a chance to try your hand at being an infiltrator in our upcoming Noir plot.
Before you start, we’d like you to please take a quick look at the game’s Concept, its Rules, and the Liminal Space, Previous Universes, & Noir Plot pages, just to give you the background info you’ll need for some of these prompts. And if you’re looking for more information, the Directory is here and the Application page is here.
Prompts:
Prompt #9: Liminal Space
Today, if it's a day, Liminal Space has shifted again. It's twilight, and a moldering New Orleans graveyard, full of ornate gothic sepulchers, stretches in every direction, gray stone and wrought iron barriers sectioning it into smaller plots. Some of these mausoleums have been opened, and their insides don't match their outsides. Inside are well-appointed train compartments, dinner cars and sleeper cars and such, richly appointed and well lit, as if they come straight from the Orient Express. Out the windows, you can see the landspace whizzing by, although it's not the same landscape from one window to the next. You can feel the vibration of the train, the acceleration - but step out of the car and you're in a graveyard again, and inside the cars you can hear crickets and nightbirds singing and smell the rich aroma of flowering trees.
Also in the graveyard are a few scattered train-cars, but nobody's going into those - inside they're all dank spaces packed with decomposing bodies. There are small animals here and there outside - rabbits, birds, that kind of thing -- all of them dead, but none of them letting it keep them from their nightly routines. The crickets and nightjars are making train noises. Bemused travelers are finding comfortable spaces wherever they can.
Prompt #10: The Midnight Rose
It's half past nine and the joint is jumping. The shutters on the front window are down, the front door is locked, but there's a big mook with a shrewd look in his eye letting anybody with a black enameled rose pin on their lapel in through the delivery entrance, and the back room they're shown into doesn't look anything like a candy store. There's a small, dark bar in one corner, and in another corner six guys with strings and brass are making like they're the Duke Ellington orchestra. The floors are tiled parquet and a few couples are dancing, but most of the action's at the smoke-shrouded card tables where a dozen little private meetings are happening, gents and dames in pinstripes and fancy hats or beaded dresses and heels, but rarely both. There are card games and conversations going on, and who can say what's more high stakes? Tonight, this is the place to be, Bensonhurst outfit or Gravesend mob or anybody else who can pay the cover charge.
Prompt #9 gives a look at what it's like for everyone to be stuck in Liminal Space, & Prompt #10 is a chance to try your hand at being an infiltrator in our upcoming Noir plot.
Before you start, we’d like you to please take a quick look at the game’s Concept, its Rules, and the Liminal Space, Previous Universes, & Noir Plot pages, just to give you the background info you’ll need for some of these prompts. And if you’re looking for more information, the Directory is here and the Application page is here.
Prompts:
Prompt #9: Liminal Space
Today, if it's a day, Liminal Space has shifted again. It's twilight, and a moldering New Orleans graveyard, full of ornate gothic sepulchers, stretches in every direction, gray stone and wrought iron barriers sectioning it into smaller plots. Some of these mausoleums have been opened, and their insides don't match their outsides. Inside are well-appointed train compartments, dinner cars and sleeper cars and such, richly appointed and well lit, as if they come straight from the Orient Express. Out the windows, you can see the landspace whizzing by, although it's not the same landscape from one window to the next. You can feel the vibration of the train, the acceleration - but step out of the car and you're in a graveyard again, and inside the cars you can hear crickets and nightbirds singing and smell the rich aroma of flowering trees.
Also in the graveyard are a few scattered train-cars, but nobody's going into those - inside they're all dank spaces packed with decomposing bodies. There are small animals here and there outside - rabbits, birds, that kind of thing -- all of them dead, but none of them letting it keep them from their nightly routines. The crickets and nightjars are making train noises. Bemused travelers are finding comfortable spaces wherever they can.
Prompt #10: The Midnight Rose
It's half past nine and the joint is jumping. The shutters on the front window are down, the front door is locked, but there's a big mook with a shrewd look in his eye letting anybody with a black enameled rose pin on their lapel in through the delivery entrance, and the back room they're shown into doesn't look anything like a candy store. There's a small, dark bar in one corner, and in another corner six guys with strings and brass are making like they're the Duke Ellington orchestra. The floors are tiled parquet and a few couples are dancing, but most of the action's at the smoke-shrouded card tables where a dozen little private meetings are happening, gents and dames in pinstripes and fancy hats or beaded dresses and heels, but rarely both. There are card games and conversations going on, and who can say what's more high stakes? Tonight, this is the place to be, Bensonhurst outfit or Gravesend mob or anybody else who can pay the cover charge.
no subject
"There is nothing more to be learned from these corpses." So perhaps the mausoleums next. Malthael's curiosity was raised by Tyrael's description of their interior. The outside seemed normal enough, though the monuments mortals built to house their dead were not a subject he had given much attention.
Malthael left Tyrael to check on one, examining it carefully before he pushed the door open.
no subject
Eventually, however, he did draw himself away from the macabre display to follow after Malthael. Although the bodies looked as they had been obviously displaced from the opened crypts, there was little that Tyrael could do for them aside from burn them (something he wasn't particularly keen on doing at the moment even if that could possibly insure that they would not rise again). For now, until the mysteries of this strange graveyard had been unravelled and the currently animated dead returned to the ground, the bodies left out of their proper graves would have to wait.
When Tyrael did catch up with the former archangel of Wisdom it was just in time to witness him vanish into the confines of one of the opened mausoleums. Surprisingly, it did not appear that the angel had stepped through a portal - there was no ripple or distortion to the air, merely his disappearance from Tyrael's line of sight.
A few ground-eating strides brought Tyrael to the entrance of the crypt where, once again, he felt the earth tremble beneath his feet, rumbling in a rhythmic pattern as if something heavy was hurtling by. And, without so much as a backward glance towards the rest of the graveyard, he stepped through the entryway and into the crypt that was not a crypt.
Almost immediately, the change in lighting and scenery within the confines of the burial chamber set Tyrael back. It was far brighter in here than it had been in the deepening dusk of the graveyard and the architecture was something altogether alien. Stranger still, were the great glass panes lining either wall to his left and right - an oddly vibrating landscape that flew past as though he were riding in some sort of carriage. This, combined with the sudden perfume in the air (something far better than rotting corpses) and the movement of the ground beneath him, had his mortal senses reeling.
With a hand pressed against one wall to ensure his continued balance, Tyrael looked to his once-brother before glancing back over one shoulder, "There is no portal."
Was this an illusion then? El'druin could cut away at seals and other demonic magics, but this... illusion was questionable - it didn't seem inherently malevolent, simply perplexing. How and why was it tied to the bodies outside? To what end was this made?