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balance_memes2019-03-04 07:57 pm
balancemod) wrote in balance_memes2019-03-04 07:57 pm
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TEST DRIVE MEME #3: WELCOME TO NEVERWINTER
 WELCOME TO NEVERWINTER Click for a full view. BACKGROUND Neverwinter, the most powerful city in all of Faerun, the Jewel of the North. Located on the northwestern part of the Sword Coast, it boasts a long history as an outpost at the once termed "Savage Frontier," where today it enjoys the wealth of free trade and craftsmanship the world over envies deeply. Its population is as diverse as it gets; turn a corner to find a mercantile street owned and operated by Dragonborn. Elves give lectures in the open libraries. Dwarves bring their findings from the Sword Mountains to turn into wondrous steel edges. And, for the most part, the city thrives on a sort of organized chaos. Temples dot the landscape, offering praises to Tyr, Oghma, and Helm, among a pantheon of other faiths. Pickpockets keep their hands busy, blacksmiths warm their irons in the fire to strike with heat. The Lord's Alliance has an unprecedented presence within Neverwinter, and all swear fealty to the most powerful man in the world: Lord Artemis Sterling. Few in the world know of the Bureau's presence and what it tries to accomplish, but the young lord is one of the Director's close confidants. It may seem odd for someone so concretely detached from the world of politics like Madame Director herself to ever engage in the local political administration of a city, but when you're as big as Neverwinter, it's good to have a friend or two in a high place. They keep out of each other's hair, up until the point that they don't. Today is that day. She receives a message in her office chair, bearing the seal of the Lord's Alliance. She can't help but roll her eyes at the sight. She has more important things to attend to- but she reads it over regardless. Lucretia, (Dragons are a colloquial term among the merchants of the Sword Coast, meaning gold pieces.) A powerful mage has enchanted Neverwinter with a powerful geas. This might be something you're looking for. Magic that powerful can't be ignored, but neither can Arty's pomp. "You didn't need to sign this as Lord Artemis. I swear, that boy would kiss his own statue if he thought it'd make him more venerable." 1. THERE MUST BE MORE THAN THIS PROVINCIAL LIFE A. TRY THE GREY STUFF, IT'S DELICIOUS. DON'T BELIEVE ME? ASK THE DISHES!Things are quite amiss when you first make your way into Neverwinter, and it's about 8 or 9 p.m. There's an air of unease at every corner, and several of the most busiest streets have been all but abandoned, aside from people scurrying from one building to another to go about their business. Doors are locked tight, windows are barred, and everywhere you go, signs of chaos are left in a trail of unhappy circumstance. But wouldn't you know it? Someone's left the light on for you. One lone tavern is well lit in the midst of a city-wide lockdown. The front sign reads "The Rockport Inn," and it's just about the only place that seems alive tonight. Opening the door, a scene unfolds before your eyes like you've never seen before. Aside from the striking, (possibly familiar) image of Tom Bodett behind a bar counter, everything in the tavern that shouldn't be moving is... alive? The tables are floating in the air, the silverware is performing cabaret on the nearby fireplace, and some of the town's most carefree mages and adventurers here are living for it. Tom smiles at you, "Welcome, travelers. See you've made your way to the Rockport. Take a seat, enjoy the show." You'd think it'd be dangerous here. An errant knife flies forward, as a nimble and smart witted bus boy catches it in mid air, using it to carve out a nice haunch of meat to be served this evening along with the musical entertainment. Looks like Faerun's found its own version of STOMP, as the chairs have assembled themselves up against the wall on a raised platform and are currently attempting a very piss poor version of "We Will Rock You." Settle in, it's going to be a pretty wild night. B. WE TELL JOKES, I DO TRICKS WITH MY FELLOW CANDLESTICKS As you wind your way through the roads of Neverwinter, you come upon a small shopping district. It seems nondescript and completely not suspicious enough — given the unsurprising range of goods for sale, the inhabitants going about their day, the way they stare at the ground while fumbling past each other, the way a man at the nearest stall hands over the item you've purchased with his gaze purposely fixed anywhere but you. Completely normal. What isn't normal, however, are the signs plastered all over the buildings, seemingly inviting you to take a closer look: NOTICE TO NEVERWINTER CITIZENS That's only one of them. There are countless others, covering an inexplicable range of topics, and perhaps most alarming of all, the second you start reading one, you are physically incapable of tearing yourself away from the sign's message. It's almost as if someone's used magic to charm you into stopping and examining every random item Atlus wrote a dialogue for and programmed into the game, and your fellow party members are starting to get concerned. You'll be stuck there until you finish reading — or at least, until someone is kind enough to smack you upside the head and knock the spell right out of you.  C. COURSE BY COURSE, ONE BY ONE, TIL YOU SHOUT 'ENOUGH! I'M DONE!'After your BIAS rations run dry, and after you've managed to pull off a few odd jobs, it's finally happening — you've got the coinage to purchase yourself a nice dinner for once. And after whatever the hell was in those rations, you are good and ready, and Neverwinter looks to be the place that knows its cuisine, and does it well. You find yourself outside of an, on the surface, snappy looking outdoor sort of dining setup, half empty, but bustling with a curious sort of energy all the same. As you're seated and as you place your order, you get the distinct sense that the people who are feeding you seem kind of ... dead inside. Like they're going through the motions of cooking, serving, brewing, and other general restaurant tasks. It becomes very obvious why once you're served your dinner, as well as a piece of paper and pencil. That steak and potatoes you ordered? They taste like lemon tart. The cold, frosty mug of ale or whatever beverage you feel like imbibing? Absolute essence of lemon tart. That grey stuff you ordered out of desperation? Lemon. Tart. That lemon tart? Yes. Even the lemon tart. After choking down the meal you were so looking forward to, you direct your attention to the piece of paper. Mandatory survey, the man who brought you your had dinner said. If it isn't filled out, he might make everything taste like wet socks instead. The paper reads: I AM THE GREAT MAGESTO, KING OF NEVERWINTER. LOOK UPON MY WORKS, YE MIGHTY, AND let me know what you think in the comments. 2. THERE'S ALWAYS A CHANCE, DOCTOR. AS LONG AS ONE CAN THINK.You arrived in Neverwinter with the basic premise — that someone is holding the city hostage with magic bordering on the absurd — but what you lack is information about the man himself. The one behind it all. Aside from his ability to make food taste like wet socks, apparently. It's time to meet with some citizens.  D. OH, IS HE IN FOR A SURPRISE!Your first target for questioning is Lord Artemis Sterling, Grand Vizier of Neverwinter. Arty is, to be frank, a pompous shit with Neverwinter's very reputation and safety on the line — he will listen to your questions, of course, but don't expect for him to provide answers without him demanding something in return. Specifically, he would like for you to locate and dispense of a gaggle of enchanted brooms that have been plaguing the nearest marketplace. Someone — whoever is controlling them — managed to sharpen the tips of their handles to something actually dangerous, so, for once in this city, it's not completely outrageous. Or, maybe it is. "Death by broom impalement would be a rather idiotic way to die, so do take care to avoid that," Arty says, as you're escorted out the door. Best of luck with that. E. YOU MUST MEET HIM, HE'S JUST THE CHAP FOR THIS Wandering down a random alleyway will lead you to Tomes and Tapestries, an expansive, multistoried bookstore. Lorkoris, a half elf, is the owner. He's sort of a softie at heart, and even though he has a wide variety of tomes for sale, his true claim to fame in Neverwinter is an impressive collection of Faerun romance novels. If there's a fiction trope, no matter how ridiculous, he's got a romance novel for it. His most popular fiction stock is the Longing, Loving, Good series by Iden Firehell: they're all stories of star-crossed lovers, cursed by the inexplicable magics of a demon, or a jealous wizard, or gods knows what else. Asked about the series' popularity, Lorkoris will simply smile, saying that perhaps the people of Neverwinter enjoy commiserating in their fiction. Seems a bit odd to him, he'd say, considering most tend to read to escape reality, but it couldn't hurt to take a book home with you, right? By the way, the books are enchanted, too. The simple act of reading a magical effect will transfer it to you as well. We'd like to keep this open-ended, you're free to have whatever magical effect you'd like, but here are a few thematic suggestions: ○ Whatever you touch turns into a stone for the next hour. That includes people! They'll be turned into an Adonis, or Fabio-like caricature of themselves, for peak romance novel cover purposes.  F. SHE HAS A TALE TO SPINFinally, your investigation leads you to Oracey, a Halfling fortune teller who decided she already has a half-pun name for the job, so she may as well work it. Have a seat, traveler. For five Dragons, she'll gaze into the raging flows of time, like a river with one destination in the end, before you both and discern one fact about your future. You'll also get a lecture on how one should always take care with that knowledge. Changing one's future isn't as easy as it sounds, and should death be reaching your doorstep before you're ready, the knowledge of that fact alone may not be enough to save you. At least, that's how it would be if Oracey was good at her job. In every fortune she divines, in fact, the exact opposite will occur. Did she say you were about to come into some wealth very soon? Prepare to be mugged the next alleyway you look down. We encourage creativity with this one! 3. CALL TO ARMS (CHARISMA, INTELLIGENCE): THE CELEBRITY PLAGIARIST By this point, the Bureau of Balance has provided some frank feedback on the grey stuff, chased down some murderous broomsticks, and identified the culprit behind the absolute Relic-enhanced chaos gripping Neverwinter. It is, of course, none other than famed author Iden Firehell, a man utilizing the Trickster Tome — a book that enchants inanimate objects with the whimsies of whatever the holder writes into it — to gather as many genuine reactions to his bizarre magic twists for his next bestseller. That's right, Neverwinter, you've been PUNK'D. SLAM DUNK'D. When the news reaches the Director, she leans back into her chair with a sigh of a thousand years of utter suffering. "Not that lout again." You approach Firehell at his latest book signing in front of Tomes and Tapestries. He is a man of about 50, silver-grey hair down to his shoulders and a charismatic, all-too-knowing twinkle in his eyes. Before him, amidst a table of fresh copies of his latest work, "Meet Me at the Dancing Diner," sits a large hardcover notebook, open to a page somewhere in the middle. Scribbles, drawings, the most obnoxious of trickster curses line the pages. There's your target. Do you have the wits about you to take it from him? 4. A NOTE FROM YOUR MODSHello everyone and welcome to the third Balance TDM! Here are some quick notes for you: The purpose of this TDM is to give you an idea of what our missions look like. It already assumes that your character has been initiated into the Bureau of Balance, and has been sent out on their first mission to retrieve a Grand Relic. To that end, threads in this TDM will not be considered game canon. What we're aiming to do with Balance is a little different from your typical DWRP game. In a typical setting, the mods set up some NPCs that have limited contact with you, the player, under a very structured set of conditions. For example, The Director is one of those NPC types, as are her two counterparts (Davenport and Garfield). However, in Balance, we'd like to take a moment to instill something early on as we run through the first TDM of the game. We've listed a few NPC's up there to give you a flavor of their personality and what their look and feel constitutes. Those NPCs are completely pilotable by any of you, at any time. What we're looking to do is give you all a structure for adventure and seeing where you all can take it. It's part of our core value and how we'd like to see things move along. Be amazing- not just in the sense of being amazing to each other and to your characters, but also with your character choices in-game. The world is completely malleable and up to you to meld, mend, repair, or bust. In a nutshell, what we're saying is... go wild. It's okay not to ask permission for something cool you'd like to do. We've given you some outlines of events, but the story that you create as you thread these out is entirely yours. And we, as a mod team, can't wait to see what you bring to the table. blurb code by photosynthesis |
1a
besides, of all the things he may have been expecting to see, a familiar face was at the bottom of the list (even below flying cutlery). hey, does this mean the Flamebringer died too? he wonders, with mild amusement.
Mikhail quietly steps up behind her, leaning one arm on the doorway above her head, effectively limiting her options to either moving forward or staying right where she is with him looming over her shoulder.]
Heh, that's what I was about to ask. [and then because Mik is Mik, he asks:] How you doin'?
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[The voice changes things.]
[They might have only met in person twice, but the association of Torna so strong that Mòrag's stepping forward and whirling on her heel before all the thoughts finish racing through her head. By then, her feet are set in a fighting stance, her Bureau-provided sheathed sword is in her left hand like a damn Chroma Katana, the weapon half-drawn and blue flames flickering around the exposed blade. Her shield remained untouched.]
[This is close quarters. There are too many people. He had saved them from and stalled Amalthus. No weaponry in his hands. He might know something. How was he here? Mòrag didn't so much relax as much as she uncoiled, straightening her stance and re-sheathing the sword. Her voice and expression was calm at least—you know, in that way a Feris was before it pounced for a kill.]
You. I'm impressed you survived.
[That was the only logical explanation, wasn't it?]
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one heroic sacrifice doesn't exactly negate what he did to her, back in Tantal.]
Me too! Maybe it's this... sturdy body of mine. Or I happened to hit a sweet spot, and slipped out of the blast unscathed. Your guess is as good as mine! [his shoulders heave with another bark of laughter.] But, no. I'm pretty sure I died. How about you, Flamebringer?
[that smile twitches, subtly, as he pushes himself off the doorway and takes a step toward her.] Did you guys manage to stop Jin and Malos, or what?
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[She's sure it's a rhetorical question, from how Mikhail carries onto his next inquiry, but the question about death... bothers her. Mòrag hides it well, but a tiny bit of the hostility edges out of her expression for something that isn't quite doubt and isn't quite thoughtful.]
Yes. We did not arrive in time to stop Malos from launching his assault, but we did end it. [Mikhail deserves a forthright answer for his intervention; she'll give him that much. She doesn't move away when he steps closer.] If not for Jin, we might have never made it to Malos in time.
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(maybe if he knew Amalthus had survived the impact and crawled up the World Tree, it'd make more sense, but for now he can entertain the idea that Jin realized what Mikhail had done and was swayed)
he rubs his chin with his hand, nodding as if that makes perfect sense.]
I see. Well! That's great, then.
[that's that. he can rest in peace knowing that Malos had been stopped.]
Say, where's that pretty lady friend of yours? [of course he knows Brighid, but that wasn't the Brighid he was acquainted with. he eyes her sword, and those flames. blue flames? but Brighid is nowhere in sight, and he doesn't see the glow of an affinity link.] If you're all alone here, I don't mind keeping you company. How about it?
[there are still amends to make. he fully expects Mòrag to hate his guts, but— hey, that's just part of the fun.]
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[It seemed like it should be a trap, but... for some reason, it didn't feel like one. Mòrag couldn't shake the inkling that he wasn't trying to deceive her, but that didn't make his 'offer' any easier to stomach.]
[Someone clears their throat behind Mòrag, and she's reminded that they're more or less completely blocking the door. She steps to the side to let the man through, taking the opportunity to turn her back to the wall. It's also a great opportunity to avoid answering anything about Brighid; yes, the lack of her presence was obvious, but confirming the absence of her Blade to a rather dangerous enemy was uncomfortable.]
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[but he sure doesn't sound serious, nor does he look serious. Mikhail seems to realize that not a second later; he clears his throat and tries to frown, offering a sweeping bow to Mòrag.
it makes him seem even less serious, though.]
C'mon, what d'you want me to do, grovel? Because I can definitely give it a shot, if that's your thing.
[someone kick him in the face.]
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Do not mock me. What do you expect to gain from this? Your actions at the World Tree keep me from striking you where you stand, but that gratitude has its limits.
[Limits that were currently being worn thin.]
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[this time there are no exaggerated gestures, only his shoulders pulled back and an attempt to put on a stern face.]
You, me, we'd make a pretty awesome team, don't you think? Besides, Brighid's not with you, and there's a spoon headed for your face.
[as he speaks, he smoothly takes a step to the left and snatches said utensil out of the air before carelessly chucking it back into the fray. he doesn't doubt that Mòrag could've dodged it or caught it by herself, but every gesture of goodwill counts, right?] You're welcome. No tricks up my sleeve!
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[This Torna man's just as lost as she is in this bizarre world, isn't he?]
There's no question of your skill, I'll concede that. And... it's true that I haven't felt a trace of Brighid's ether since awakening here. [Small, exasperated sigh.] As... absolutely loath as I am to admit it, perhaps you are right.
['The devil you know,' and all that. Her posture straightens and she clasps her hands behind her back at ease, but the glare and tension in her shoulders remain. It's a reminder; this is not a friendly alliance.]
Need I mention the consequences, if I do find out you're planning something?
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Sure! You'll dish out some of that vigorous Ardainian discipline, if I step out of line. [nevermind, he's back to being gross.] But seriously, you don't have a thing to worry about. I... am a changed man. Or in the progress of becoming a changed man, anyway.
[redemption's never that easy, especially for someone who spent centuries stewing in misanthropy. but... a lot of things have been reminding him of how things used to be. even here, in this bizarre world after death, he can see faint traces of Emperor Hugo in Mòrag's steady glare.]
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[A changed man. It's a line she heard often, when investigating Ardainians with existing records. It's easy to say, and so few meant it.]
You've begun reevaluating your stance on hating the world—on hating humans—merely because you were reminded of others? Is that it?
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[Blades had no place in Alrest but to serve humans. subservience was hardwired into their very beings. that’s what Jin and Malos had driven into their heads over and over again— and Amalthus’ actions only served to prove them right.
but it’s not always like that. Jin loved Lora. Lora loved Jin. Drivers who see their Blades not as tools but as equals are the real deal, and the reason why that system worked for old Torna.
then Amalthus fucked things up. Core Crystals were treated as commodities to be shipped in bulk and distributed to armies. Blades had to be registered with the Praetorium like livestock, and Alrest simply went along with it. Mikhail scoffs.]
It’s easy to see the good in others when you’re born under the right star. I envy you people. You’ve got people to love, and a reason to live. Is it really so bad if I want a part in that, for a change?
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I understand your anger. I might even go far to say I understand it's depth.
[And besides, even if her duty as the Special Inquisitor hadn't constantly forced her to deal with the most treacherous and vile humans Mor Ardain had to offer, if she hadn't known too many men like Dughall, Jin had certainly gone on at length about the problem every chance he got. Mòrag shakes her head slightly.]
It's your motivations for being "a changed man," as you put it, that I wonder about. [It wouldn't be easy for a Blade to let go of so much injustice—just like it wasn't easy to accept Mikhail's show of good faith, knowing how many of her people Torna had killed, feeling that phantom edge of a blade to her throat.] ...You really were being honest, weren't you? Saying that you wanted company?
[You know, under all that gross.]
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[in spite of everything, the new Torna was his family, even if they'd all be dead after reaching the end. but they only fed into each others' toxic hatred. Jin and Malos might have claimed they needed each other, but even Mikhail can now understand they were both wrong. sure, they needed each other, but did they really save each other?
Lora would have been devastated with how things turned out. staring at her frozen corpse in the command center was a daily reminder of both their unforgivable crimes and why they committed those crimes. death was supposed to be his liberation, but here he is, talking to the woman he once held up by the throat.]
Say, how about I start making amends right now? I'll be your willing manservant for what-e-ver you want. [ w i n k ]
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[...What a dreadful thought that these circumstances have already her to.]
How about you serve as kindling? [Mòrag asks wryly, her mouth stretched into an unamused line.]
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[the fact that she hasn't stabbed him with that sword is definitely a big point in his book. he has experience dealing with Patroka and Akhos being rude shits, anyway. Mikhail's just barely able to stop himself from going in to sling an arm around her shoulders out of reflex because-- alright, he's straightforward, but he's still not interested in that very real risk of being stabbed and burned simultaneously.]
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For your sake, see to it that it remains that way—and it won't, if all you do is seek to provoke me.
[Mòrag steps around him striding towards one of the tables still sitting where it should be, grabbing a flying chair by the leg on the way. The soldier pauses mid-way, glancing back at Mikhail.]
If you truly want me to take your claims seriously? Act like it. [Prove it. She can't be as forgiving as Rex, but she might be able to give the Tornan the benefit of the doubt if he earns it. She thunks the chair on the ground, seating herself at the table and resisting the urge to massage her oncoming headache.]
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Mikhail weaves around the flying cutlery and furniture with flourishing movements like it's a dance, pauses at some point to wink at Mòrag, and snatches a chair before he reaches the table and plonks it down across from her to sit.]
Alright, I'll be serious... starting now. Can I buy you a drink?
[that— that's his idea of being serious.]
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[...The man can't even move across a room without being obnoxious. This was going to be a long night. Mòrag dryly arches a brow at him.]
I take it you have as much idea as I do as to what this land's offerings are.
[Which was nada, except for water. The concepts were all the same: fruits, liquors, teas, meats... but she's yet to recognize the name of a single thing. Except coffee. That was a surprise.]
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[a menu flies over his head; he reaches up to grab it. yup... most of this is unfamiliar, but it's easy enough to guess what most of them are more or less supposed to be. for now, though, maybe he'll skip over the weird-sounding stuff like Orc Kragg and Goblin Thudrud.]
So you won't mind if I pick something for you, huh?
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If you must, [Mòrag says with that sort of dull, exasperated emphasis on each word that sort of makes each sound like their own sentence. Then a thought occurred to her.]
You have a Blade's core, don't you? You don't seem bothered by the lack of ether here.
[Granted, this world obviously ran on different rules, what with tavern patrons betting on the outcome of sentient animated knife fights hardly a few peds away, but it was curious to think about.]
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Hey, hey, I've still got a human heart. [he probably thinks he just said something totally profound just now.]
It did get me thinking, though. If there's no ether, could I still form a bond with a Driver? [it should be easy to tell where he's going with this. Mikhail rests his forearms on the table, slightly leaning in.] Care to test it with me, later?