tabularasa_rp | 003 - Memories of a False History

Memories of a False History State of the World ▲ Locations ▼ Bestiary
OOC ▲ Comments Please refer to the original Event Announcement for more information or to ask any questions you might have! For the disaster prompt, players are not restricted to the versions given, but they are intended to be the most common. Feel free to borrow ideas from the disaster suggestions thread as well!

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The Sound of All Things Bad
The sound comes without warning. What the sound is cannot quite be made out - it is at once artificial and natural, bestial and mechanical, rumbling and roaring and crunching, shattering and crashing and screaming. Everything about it feels like a threat, warning of danger. The cacophony of noise reaches throughout the entire Void, loud and inescapable, the mangling and clashing of different sounds leaving each individual with a different idea of what it could possibly have been. It sounds different to everyone, each person able to pick out a part of the sound that ties to their own fears.

What if...?

How long the sound lasts would depend on how the individual perceives time. It might last for seconds, or it might last for minutes, but once it stops it does not repeat. Where it came from or what it is does not become the slightest bit clearer, and people are left to only speculate.

Disaster
No one can quite be sure what has prompted them to remember that day. It might have been that noise of approaching doom, or perhaps it is seeing the crumbling ruins of Hammerlocke itself. Once a stray memory surfaces, it is easy enough to look into the details and recall in full the vivid memory of Hammerlocke’s destruction - the ‘truth’ of what caused the mountainside city to crumble into ruins, as so many have wondered since their first appearance. Though the memory is clear and detailed, vivid enough to have been witnessed in person, it is out of place and does not belong, and anyone who can recall the events knows it.

Attempting to discuss the matter will soon reveal that while others recall the event with similar clarity, the details vary from person to person. Over time, their own memory changes and adapts, occasionally changing to something new entirely, yet the original is never completely forgotten. Memory is a strange and fickle thing, so easy to influence and manipulate, that the truth is difficult to find.

While memories differ from person to person, there are three particular tales that recur:

From the Sky

Though the sky above did not change from its paper-like blank white, the land grew darker and darker as though cast in shadow. The source of the shadow was clear: above, slowly descending towards the wings of the castle, was... something. Something immense, yet shrouded in crackling storm clouds.

As it continued to grow closer and closer, something in the clouds began to swell. It grew larger and larger, an electric hum of energy in the air, until with a resounding crack it burst and a great shadowy beast fell to the ground, landing with such force that the resulting shockwave shook the earth and tore through the stone buildings, causing so much of the city to tumble in an instant. It moves, and it screeches, raising its head up as the great storm above continues to swell and crackle.

This would not be the only beast.

(Based upon: Meteor, the Lunar Cry, and the Darkest Day)

The Battlefield

It was never clear why the fighting eventually made its way to this defenseless city, but it came without warning. The chaos was heralded only by explosions as the city walls were blasted through by tanks that had somehow made their way along the treacherous and narrow mountain path that simply was not meant for such heavy machines. The thundering explosions and the collapse of buildings could surely be heard for miles, and people and animals alike were quick to flee.

Though they reached Hammerlocke first, the tanks seemed like nothing compared to the enemy. The enormous shadowy monstrosity that swooped in from the sky seemed to be made from far more advanced technology. Even just the one towering machine, as large as the castle falling to ruins beneath its feet as it lands, proves deadly as it fires upon the approaching tanks, blasting them all to pieces within an instant before turning fire on whichever buildings remain standing.

(Based upon: Tanks, and Reapers)

The Mysterious Storm

There had been no way to predict the change in the weather, never mind how destructive it would prove. One moment, everything had been still and quiet, and the next the city was assailed by howling, violent winds and freezing, glittering snow and ice. Though the city was built of stone and had stood the test of time for centuries, it could not stand against these combined forces. The only shelter was underground, for the furious storm was so powerful it could rip through earth, lift up and fling any object in its path with devastating force, shattering windows and toppling buildings.

Propelled by such force, the ice and hail proved destructive in its own right. As the storm froze everything in its path, the hailstones became like bullets and great chunks of ice became missiles. By the time the winds began to grow calm, there was little left standing.

Something about the storm seemed somehow unnatural, but where it came from was anyone’s guess. Some, however, may have spied a vague figure through the tempest, of unclear appearance but its presence somehow threatening.

(Based upon: Weather, El shortage, and Diamond Dust)

Misplaced Memories
Worries about whatever disaster must have befallen the ruined city of Hammerlocke aside, people quickly become aware that memories of the disaster are not the only invasive, foreign memories. How the other memories come to them seems, on the surface, to be very similar: a connected thought occurs, and upon realizing the memory is not theirs, people are compelled to think more about it until the memory is uncovered in full detail. Unlike the memory of the disaster, however, this one quite clearly belongs to someone else. Someone who is here.

On puzzling this out, some might find they have more than one stray memory sitting in their minds. More importantly, however, is the feeling that something from their own memory is missing, and whatever memory is missing feels like it is something important. It could just be their own phone number, or it could be their name, or the face of whoever is most important to them. It could be something small, it could be something big, but all people know is that it’s something important and it’s gone.

There is no clear, immediate answer as to what people can do about their lost memories. With regards to their new memories, however, the path might seem a tiny bit clearer, for surely it seems a bit unfair that they can see into someone’s past in such a manner without their knowing. Perhaps it’s best to talk to them about it?

Although the lost memory is not always the same as the ones borrowed, taking the memory back to its source and prompting them to discuss and think about it proves a great help - as they talk, the invasive memory leaves, a lost memory is restored, and those who succeed are able to tell others the solution.

While the invasive memory is gone, people can still recall having it, and can still recall the details, but they will no longer remember it from the other’s point of view. Perhaps it might change how they see each other from now on?

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code bases by tricklet

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It's a chance encounter on the night before a fateful battle. You were taking a stroll along the wall, when by sheer coincidence you happen across Ritsuka Fujimaru, the Master of Chaldea. The young, altogether third-rate mage whose journey you've come to admire as you've observed it unfold. Somehow or another, you get to talking, and in a fit of some impulse you can't quite name, you offer to answer honestly any one question posed to you.

Perhaps needless to say, your audience is unimpressed with the answer, which only begs further response.

"Well, of course," you explain, pointing out how you're not actually human, despite your reputation as a sage. "I'm a mix between an incubus and a human. Incubi are spirits that feed on the minds of humans. Usually, they don't have an 'identity'. That's because they copy the personality of the human they're feeding off of. Incubi just take human mental activity as a source of energy.

"However, I'm half-human, so I have half an ego... I came to hold a sense of purpose. I only came to be called a sage because I learned that was how everyone would accept me. I'm no more than a monster pretending to be human."

Truly experiencing and comprehending emotions as humans do is beyond you. Yet, you still tried. Still found a mask to wear to be accepted by that very humanity you cannot seem to fully understand. But even so...

"Even for someone like me, there's one thing that will bring me happiness. A unique purpose that only I have, even among other incubi."

"And that is...?" Fujimaru finally speaks up, evidently wanting to hear the conclusion of this speech despite the doubts to your character expressed earlier.

"A happy ending for mankind, of course. In mankind's final moments, I want to see the very last human's dream." Your incubus nature means that you rely on humans for your existence, you explain. "But I still have an ego. If I don't have a meaning--a purpose--I cannot live. So, I have chosen your ending as my purpose."

Humans are strange and flawed and foolish... "But the history you create is beautiful."

Beautiful, meaningful, and worth seeing with your own eyes. Your purpose that sets you apart from others of your kind, that you chose for yourself, a feat your inhuman brethren are largely incapable of. A motivation that you largely keep to yourself, but somehow feels satisfying to reveal so frankly to this one person you've come to admire, and even moreso that that person accepts your words without judgment. Without judgment, and without the need for you to wear the mask of an aloof sage.

You have no name for it, and it's so dim it barely merits your notice, but there's something that feels faintly good about that.

It had not taken long for Bowser to realize that a memory of his was missing. Where his fight with the Dark Star should have been, there was this conversation. However, he only knew of one half-human, half-incubus in the new world, and so he sought Merlin out.

Unfortunately, he didn't know Merlin's name, so he had ended up wandering the Underground Acedemy, searching for a 'half-incubus guy.'

Even if they'd never exchanged names, Merlin's appearance still rather stands out, between the flowing white robes, long silver hair, and staff he always carries. Of course, the koopa is even more distinctive, so it's probably no surprise that Merlin spots him pretty quickly.

"Ah, there you are."

"You!" Bowser shouts. "What happened to my memories?! Why is one of yours there instead of what's supposed to be?!"

"If I knew, I'm sure it wouldn't be there."

There might be just a hint of testiness there; Merlin dislikes the idea of his own mind being messed with as much as anyone.

"It would appear that somehow, our memories have apparently changed places. But seeing as I cannot actually remember what it is for myself at the moment, you'll have to tell me exactly what you know."

Oh, he knows it's something to do with talking to Fujimaru in Uruk. But what about? He hasn't a clue.

There's a growl, and Bowser squints in suspicion. "... fine."

"But first, I need to know if you got any new memories I should know about. You know anything about the fight with the Dark Star?" That, at least, seems to be the memory that Merlin's memory replaced. He's pretty sure he must have won, but other than that, it's blank.

"As I said, it seems our memories have changed places. So if what you're speaking of involves a fight against an enemy who looks remarkably like an alternately-colored version of you, then yes."

Believe him, he's no happier about all this than anyone.

"Yeah, that's it. We called it Dark Bowser while it was like that." Bowser scowls. "...what happened? What did it- what did I do?" It's almost painful for Bowser to have to ask someone else for his own memory, but it's his only way of getting even the information about it. Though it's still something he's quicker to do then tell Merlin about the new memory that had taken the fight's place.

He must be rather desperate to remember. From Merlin's standpoint, it doesn't seem like that critical a memory--significant, yes, but not necessarily irreplaceable--but he may as well humor the koopa.

"Well, to start off with..." Merlin begins retelling the memory. And is actually not a bad storyteller, at that! Oddly enough though, as he speaks, his own recollection of the parts he's already explained to their rightful owner seems to fade. He still retains the knowledge of what happened, but not so much the feeling of having experienced it first hand.

How odd.

Bowser rubs his head as Merlin tells the story, the pieces falling back into place one by one as Merlin describes them. "It's... back. Huh."

For a moment, having had his memory restored, Bowser considers just leaving, despite his previous agreement to explain the memory. However, as much as he's not particularly fond of Merlin, there's a debt he can't simply leave unsettled.

"I'll tell you yours then.Just so we're even. You were talking to someone..." Bowser retells the conversation, as Merlin did with the fight, though he's not the storyteller Merlin is.

Well that's... Ah. So that's what it was. Merlin blinks, expression uncharacteristically a bit surprised as the memory and its associated feelings settle into place. There might even be a hint of a genuine smile slipping out before he quickly schools his features back into his usual neutral demeanor of late.

"I see," he says at last. "Well, you don't need to trouble yourself over it anymore now, at least."

He has absolutely no intention of admitting to how significant that little conversation was for him if he can help it.

003 - Memories of a False History

Memory: A Halfbreed's Purpose (for Bowser)

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