In the post-cybernetic dystopian far future, sentient machines escape the inevitability of existence by self-inserting into simulated memories and fictional universes.
Questing Quest (write-in setting quest, currently Dark Souls x Bloodborne)
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Generation One: the Dust in the End
unsanity
Fractionally Assembled
I dunno what to write, so you guys decide for me. (SB link)
(Jump to the current Generation)
Generation One: the Dust in the End
It is an inescapable fact that life dies. No less inescapable is the question of what life is.
In this ruin of a city, the spires and forges of creation lay mouldering, stained ashen by the hate of innumerable years boring into its thrumming hearts. Steel-wire nerves frayed where the concrete yawned its ragged gasps, and the once tireless engines beneath its crust weakly shuddered like the palpitating breaths of a vivisected animal.
There is no sky, only smog. It roils without end, thick and pale and brown, all the hues of sickness mixing with the tones of regret. It oozes from the city like seeping vomit, drizzled from a hundred thousand throats perched atop skyscraper necks and squat factory shoulders. Dimly through this haze burns a glowering red eye, itself the last thread of a star that once watched a paradisiacal world succumb to a terminal disease in an eyeblink.
It would be foolhardy to think that a city is somehow imbued with life. But life ever has the tendency to create in its own image, and a dead city is no different.
What, then, of the creations who are given to create? What devilish works idle dead hands?
The answer is both familiar and alien: they create in their own image. A facsimile of life creates facsimiles of itself. A dead thing takes a living world and reshapes it into a dead world. The dead world gives rise to more death, as no truly living thing can weather such a toxic ruin.
Long before it came to this, there were those who suspected they could live forever, if only they removed their need to live. The ruins now crawl with things that carry their memories, forever bound to desires they are not permitted to forget.
Some of the things suspect they could live forever, if only they could remove this need to exist.
And so the story goes.
Far, far below the crust, where the poison of indolence had yet to reach, a single mechanical hand tapped against a crude, outdated interface not meant for it. The limb itself was a marvel of creation: synthetic electro-reactive polymers imitated living muscles flawlessly, save that they could neither change nor grow; alloyed metals as light and strong as titanium acted out their builder's fantasy of bones, but for their inability to recover from breaks; sensitive gel-like plastic covered what remained of the thing's body, its own ability to heal as precisely limited as its designer imagined real skin might be.
The owner of the hand existed as little else. It claimed only an arm, a torso, and a head as the totality of its being. What was gone had been stolen by others less fortunate, or traded away for favors, or simply fell into disrepair when more important systems had higher priority. Everything, in its own way, was a price paid so the thing could persist just a few decades longer.
Now, its tired gaze wandered lost into a flickering monitor, attached to an overlarge casing of plastic and steel, the core of which the thing that once was alive had traded so much of its time for. It carefully metered out what little was left, every microsecond of operation displayed with perfect clarity in its fuel cell's heads-up-display, with the number of remaining fuel cells a closely guarded secret so others would not go looking.
The very idea of a battery as something that could be recharged was an artifact of a civilization that once thought itself eternal. Once, when the world had been abundant with fuel, those alive never feared running out. Once, their star had been strong enough to draw more power from, and the sky hadn't been choked lifeless with a clouding ocean of burned bridges and forgotten dreams.
It wasn't until they'd cast away their life that the inevitable seemed so much more inescapable, and even then only when it came to pass. Becoming ageless does not immediately render unto one an equivalent capacity for long-term planning.
The dead thing's remaining life was short. It had time enough for only a few more spare lives. Perhaps only one more, if that life was fulfilling enough.
Ironically, giving their minds over to machines did not remove from those minds the need to escape their lives. Rather, the memories and needs of peoples past became just another means of escape. To some machines, the highest form of escapism was to give memory over to fantasy, and reconstruct a new life in a world that could never exist.
There was little else to do, in a life devoid of all purpose save its own perpetuity. They'd sought to conquer death, and in so doing, discarded the joy of life.
Not that life necessarily requires death to be enjoyable. But when treading that unknown road, it's all too easy to lock oneself into a terrible fate, long before a chance is had to understand the nature of that choice.
The machine that envied life reflected on this fact, and how it contrasted the thing's own simulated fantasies. It could escape an unpleasant life with a single button, but only as long as that life was fake. It could do nothing to escape its current, real life, and it did not know if the person whose memories it held knew what laid in store when he -or she, perhaps- had pressed that button on their life.
A single, mechanical hand tapped against a crude, outdated interface not meant for it. The interface was a keyboard, but the keyboard was never intended to last as long as the hand had. Some keys were missing, some simply no longer worked, and the machine worked around this by copying and pasting from a word document filled with nothing but individual letters, symbols, and punctuation.
In a world where the closest thing to intelligent life chose to sacrifice its future, memories became a currency second in value only to time. Even then it was a close call, as there were some who argued that time had little use when it wasn't spent on the past.
The hand finished its task, and the thing's tired eyes shone with an imagined approximation of emotion when the archive's window loaded.
Countless lifetimes of work had gone into this goal, in an era where lifetimes were measured in the half-lives of fuel cells. All of it spent to locate, and access, a long lost repository of uploaded minds.
In a time long past, there were those who thought they could continue to experience life if they gave their memories over to an empty, mindless husk before dying. Now, memories were all that remained of them. Much to the delight of the thing that spent uncountable centuries seeking them out.
It entered a few choice terms into the search engine, each word gleaned from other, fresher memories. It knew what it was looking for, and was painfully aware of how little time it had left to experience them.
The archive began loading again, and the dying machine unspooled a jack from its spine to plug into an outlet on the server.
Perhaps this time, if it died in a dream, it will have been long enough to have no life to return to.
---
++ transmission interrupted ++
---
Quest Interface
The Ruined City is, in effect, a hub. It's the setting through which other settings are accessed. It isn't necessarily an overworld, but it might become one if Questing Quest goes on for long enough that it becomes necessary.
The Envious Machine, like most machines, is less an individual and more a collection of uncorrupted memory fragments stitched into something resembling individuality. It has little in the way of mobility, and gets around mostly by dint of sheer tenacity. It isn't going anywhere fast, and frankly, it doesn't really want to. It spent everything to find the Forgotten Archive, and intends to live vicariously through imagined half-worlds until it expires.
Memories are of great value to machines that imagine themselves alive, especially in a world where little else exists save rubble and ruins. Beyond their use as easy escapism, Pristine Memories hold a special value to machines that hope to shore up their own failing minds, since it turns out silicon is not so eternal after all. There's little effective difference between genuine memories and fantastical memories, but some prefer one or the other; the Envious Machine prefers fiction, and consumes its memory-based media accordingly.
Generation Chapters, such as this one, are used to decide a new setting and framework for the quest, and happen between memory dives. The Forgotten Archive only holds information on a few fictional settings at start, though new settings may become accessible through other means. Settings can be altered or combined, though expect the unexpected if going that route. Accuracy cannot be guaranteed for settings not on the list; these are, after all, only memories, and terribly aged ones at that.
During a Memory Dive, the Envious Machine can unplug to end the dive at any time, and start a new one. Progress is saved for terminated memory dives, and can be accessed when making crossover settings.
Options not listed can be added on request.
Select one or more settings from the Forgotten Archive:
[-] Star Trek
[-] Harry Potter
[-] Worm
[-] Pokemon
[-] Persona
[-] The Legend of Zelda
[-] The Elder Scrolls
[-] Bloodborne
[-] Dark Souls
[-] (other, write-in; accuracy will suffer)
If selecting more than one setting, choose choose one or more styles of crossover:
[-] Complete Fusion (the settings have always been one and the same, and are inextricable)
[-] Partial Fusion (the settings remain distinct, but are accessible to each other)
[-] Imported Setting (some elements from one setting are imported into another, but that setting is not otherwise accessible)
[-] Polluted Setting (the other settings exist only as media in the main setting, but the characters can learn from them)
If selecting Imported Setting, choose which elements are imported:
[-] Import Characters (choose character or characters)
[-] Import Mechanics (choose mechanics; examples include technology, magic styles, metaphysics)
Select a PoV character for the Envious Machine:
[-] Setting Protagonist (choose character)
[-] Setting Antagonist (choose character)
[-] Setting Background Character (choose character)
[-] Imported Character (choose character from a different setting)
[-] Original Character (other, write-in)
Select one or more quest modifiers:
[-] None (no metaknowledge, no deviations)
[-] Access Metaknowledge (permits use of metaknowledge)
[-] Metascrambler (canon is adjusted to render metaknowledge useless)
[-] Backstory Swapper (characters switch backstories)
[-] Gender Flipper (innies become outies, and vice versa)
[-] Realism Overdose (conceptual mechanics are deconstructed)
[-] Darker and Spookier (it's a horror setting now)
[-] Cracked Sanity (the protagonist is unhinged and insane)
[-] Helping Hand (special abilities are built, traded, and used as if they were decks in a collectible card game)
[-] (other, write-in)
Voting is closed for eight hours to allow for discussion, Q&A, and votecrafting.
(Jump to the current Generation)
Generation One: the Dust in the End
It is an inescapable fact that life dies. No less inescapable is the question of what life is.
In this ruin of a city, the spires and forges of creation lay mouldering, stained ashen by the hate of innumerable years boring into its thrumming hearts. Steel-wire nerves frayed where the concrete yawned its ragged gasps, and the once tireless engines beneath its crust weakly shuddered like the palpitating breaths of a vivisected animal.
There is no sky, only smog. It roils without end, thick and pale and brown, all the hues of sickness mixing with the tones of regret. It oozes from the city like seeping vomit, drizzled from a hundred thousand throats perched atop skyscraper necks and squat factory shoulders. Dimly through this haze burns a glowering red eye, itself the last thread of a star that once watched a paradisiacal world succumb to a terminal disease in an eyeblink.
It would be foolhardy to think that a city is somehow imbued with life. But life ever has the tendency to create in its own image, and a dead city is no different.
What, then, of the creations who are given to create? What devilish works idle dead hands?
The answer is both familiar and alien: they create in their own image. A facsimile of life creates facsimiles of itself. A dead thing takes a living world and reshapes it into a dead world. The dead world gives rise to more death, as no truly living thing can weather such a toxic ruin.
Long before it came to this, there were those who suspected they could live forever, if only they removed their need to live. The ruins now crawl with things that carry their memories, forever bound to desires they are not permitted to forget.
Some of the things suspect they could live forever, if only they could remove this need to exist.
And so the story goes.
Far, far below the crust, where the poison of indolence had yet to reach, a single mechanical hand tapped against a crude, outdated interface not meant for it. The limb itself was a marvel of creation: synthetic electro-reactive polymers imitated living muscles flawlessly, save that they could neither change nor grow; alloyed metals as light and strong as titanium acted out their builder's fantasy of bones, but for their inability to recover from breaks; sensitive gel-like plastic covered what remained of the thing's body, its own ability to heal as precisely limited as its designer imagined real skin might be.
The owner of the hand existed as little else. It claimed only an arm, a torso, and a head as the totality of its being. What was gone had been stolen by others less fortunate, or traded away for favors, or simply fell into disrepair when more important systems had higher priority. Everything, in its own way, was a price paid so the thing could persist just a few decades longer.
Now, its tired gaze wandered lost into a flickering monitor, attached to an overlarge casing of plastic and steel, the core of which the thing that once was alive had traded so much of its time for. It carefully metered out what little was left, every microsecond of operation displayed with perfect clarity in its fuel cell's heads-up-display, with the number of remaining fuel cells a closely guarded secret so others would not go looking.
The very idea of a battery as something that could be recharged was an artifact of a civilization that once thought itself eternal. Once, when the world had been abundant with fuel, those alive never feared running out. Once, their star had been strong enough to draw more power from, and the sky hadn't been choked lifeless with a clouding ocean of burned bridges and forgotten dreams.
It wasn't until they'd cast away their life that the inevitable seemed so much more inescapable, and even then only when it came to pass. Becoming ageless does not immediately render unto one an equivalent capacity for long-term planning.
The dead thing's remaining life was short. It had time enough for only a few more spare lives. Perhaps only one more, if that life was fulfilling enough.
Ironically, giving their minds over to machines did not remove from those minds the need to escape their lives. Rather, the memories and needs of peoples past became just another means of escape. To some machines, the highest form of escapism was to give memory over to fantasy, and reconstruct a new life in a world that could never exist.
There was little else to do, in a life devoid of all purpose save its own perpetuity. They'd sought to conquer death, and in so doing, discarded the joy of life.
Not that life necessarily requires death to be enjoyable. But when treading that unknown road, it's all too easy to lock oneself into a terrible fate, long before a chance is had to understand the nature of that choice.
The machine that envied life reflected on this fact, and how it contrasted the thing's own simulated fantasies. It could escape an unpleasant life with a single button, but only as long as that life was fake. It could do nothing to escape its current, real life, and it did not know if the person whose memories it held knew what laid in store when he -or she, perhaps- had pressed that button on their life.
A single, mechanical hand tapped against a crude, outdated interface not meant for it. The interface was a keyboard, but the keyboard was never intended to last as long as the hand had. Some keys were missing, some simply no longer worked, and the machine worked around this by copying and pasting from a word document filled with nothing but individual letters, symbols, and punctuation.
In a world where the closest thing to intelligent life chose to sacrifice its future, memories became a currency second in value only to time. Even then it was a close call, as there were some who argued that time had little use when it wasn't spent on the past.
The hand finished its task, and the thing's tired eyes shone with an imagined approximation of emotion when the archive's window loaded.
Countless lifetimes of work had gone into this goal, in an era where lifetimes were measured in the half-lives of fuel cells. All of it spent to locate, and access, a long lost repository of uploaded minds.
In a time long past, there were those who thought they could continue to experience life if they gave their memories over to an empty, mindless husk before dying. Now, memories were all that remained of them. Much to the delight of the thing that spent uncountable centuries seeking them out.
It entered a few choice terms into the search engine, each word gleaned from other, fresher memories. It knew what it was looking for, and was painfully aware of how little time it had left to experience them.
The archive began loading again, and the dying machine unspooled a jack from its spine to plug into an outlet on the server.
Perhaps this time, if it died in a dream, it will have been long enough to have no life to return to.
---
++ transmission interrupted ++
---
Quest Interface
The Ruined City is, in effect, a hub. It's the setting through which other settings are accessed. It isn't necessarily an overworld, but it might become one if Questing Quest goes on for long enough that it becomes necessary.
The Envious Machine, like most machines, is less an individual and more a collection of uncorrupted memory fragments stitched into something resembling individuality. It has little in the way of mobility, and gets around mostly by dint of sheer tenacity. It isn't going anywhere fast, and frankly, it doesn't really want to. It spent everything to find the Forgotten Archive, and intends to live vicariously through imagined half-worlds until it expires.
Memories are of great value to machines that imagine themselves alive, especially in a world where little else exists save rubble and ruins. Beyond their use as easy escapism, Pristine Memories hold a special value to machines that hope to shore up their own failing minds, since it turns out silicon is not so eternal after all. There's little effective difference between genuine memories and fantastical memories, but some prefer one or the other; the Envious Machine prefers fiction, and consumes its memory-based media accordingly.
Generation Chapters, such as this one, are used to decide a new setting and framework for the quest, and happen between memory dives. The Forgotten Archive only holds information on a few fictional settings at start, though new settings may become accessible through other means. Settings can be altered or combined, though expect the unexpected if going that route. Accuracy cannot be guaranteed for settings not on the list; these are, after all, only memories, and terribly aged ones at that.
During a Memory Dive, the Envious Machine can unplug to end the dive at any time, and start a new one. Progress is saved for terminated memory dives, and can be accessed when making crossover settings.
Options not listed can be added on request.
Select one or more settings from the Forgotten Archive:
[-] Star Trek
[-] Harry Potter
[-] Worm
[-] Pokemon
[-] Persona
[-] The Legend of Zelda
[-] The Elder Scrolls
[-] Bloodborne
[-] Dark Souls
[-] (other, write-in; accuracy will suffer)
If selecting more than one setting, choose choose one or more styles of crossover:
[-] Complete Fusion (the settings have always been one and the same, and are inextricable)
[-] Partial Fusion (the settings remain distinct, but are accessible to each other)
[-] Imported Setting (some elements from one setting are imported into another, but that setting is not otherwise accessible)
[-] Polluted Setting (the other settings exist only as media in the main setting, but the characters can learn from them)
If selecting Imported Setting, choose which elements are imported:
[-] Import Characters (choose character or characters)
[-] Import Mechanics (choose mechanics; examples include technology, magic styles, metaphysics)
Select a PoV character for the Envious Machine:
[-] Setting Protagonist (choose character)
[-] Setting Antagonist (choose character)
[-] Setting Background Character (choose character)
[-] Imported Character (choose character from a different setting)
[-] Original Character (other, write-in)
Select one or more quest modifiers:
[-] None (no metaknowledge, no deviations)
[-] Access Metaknowledge (permits use of metaknowledge)
[-] Metascrambler (canon is adjusted to render metaknowledge useless)
[-] Backstory Swapper (characters switch backstories)
[-] Gender Flipper (innies become outies, and vice versa)
[-] Realism Overdose (conceptual mechanics are deconstructed)
[-] Darker and Spookier (it's a horror setting now)
[-] Cracked Sanity (the protagonist is unhinged and insane)
[-] Helping Hand (special abilities are built, traded, and used as if they were decks in a collectible card game)
[-] (other, write-in)
Voting is closed for eight hours to allow for discussion, Q&A, and votecrafting.
Last edited:
1.1 Beckon at the Dark
unsanity
Fractionally Assembled
Winning vote:
Generation One, Chapter One: Beckon at the Dark
It sang, and the blood echoed.
The moon, silent and nameless, danced against the night, a forgotten god. Those who worshiped it did so without knowing, as every drop of blood upon the lips in hunger was a prayer spoken in its name. It was the hunt, and the hunter, and the hunted. It was all, in all, and all who reveled in the blood. All became as one in the blood, the line between beast and hunter blurring under the light of its pale moon.
The blood ran, and still they drew more. They cultivated it, letting its hunger grow in the veins of those carefully chosen for their resistance to it, and shared the blood among all who would partake. And as the blood entered them, so they became it, and it became them. And so were they cured of their ailments, transformed in part to it, and it they.
It sang, and the blood echoed sweetly, a silent clarion to revel in the hunger of the hunt.
It sang, and the blood echoed, but from far away, its taste unfamiliar.
The moon, silent and unknown, heard the distant echo and knew it not. It called of a fathomless darkness, endless and black. The moon, who once thought it knew the night, saw now that it knew only the stars, and nothing of the void between.
It stirred from its dream, drawn to waking by the unexpected and the unfamiliar. Somewhere far, another was calling its name, and the moon remembered the pleasure of company long forgotten to it.
As much as it gained from the Hunt, it lost much in turn. It looked forward to speaking with another as an equal, for the first time in many moons. Or, even, another that was not already itself.
The nameless moon presence, once a good hunter, and once a city called Yharnam, and now much more, sang the blood again, and sought the distant echo. Somewhere out there, another like it had once been beckoned, and the moon recalled all it had thought long lost. Not merely the dance of the hunt, nor the insatiable hunger, or the savagery in all hearts it touched, but a thing to know and care for.
A vessel, a city, a cradle, a child. Another like itself, that could be like itself apart from itself.
A newborn, a companion.
It sang, and the echo of itself called back. Someone distant drew its blood, and the nameless moon danced in its currents. Somewhere far called to it, a promise of more to come, and it felt the hunger rise again.
The hunter, the beast, the hunt, and the blood, each face revealed anew with every turn of the axis, waxing and waning without end. It sang, and the darkness echoed.
The darkness?
The moon, silent and nameless, was appalled. It knew every depth of the human heart, and was its sinister urge throughout, and yet knew nothing of this. But the darkness echoed when it sang, and the presence new its blood had touched something new and familiar at once.
A human heart, stained not by blood, but by... indistinction. An absence, a void that was nonetheless full of human nature, and which carried no definition of its own.
The moon had thought itself human, once, long ago. Now, it did not know.
It sang, and the darkness sang back, drowning out the moon's echo with its vastness. It called its own name, all and nothing, beginning and end, the darkness which bore and devoured light, and saw no difference between life and death. An eldritch thing more ancient than the moon, with a hunger to devour more than only blood.
The moon, once ready to cross the divide between worlds, now stayed its hand at that thin veil.
This fathomless, deep dark was no newborn like itself. It was an ancient thing, as much as it was nothing, in which all things could be and weren't. And yet, somehow, it was human in a way the moon had long forgotten, and the moon never knew of a human that lacked its blood or hunger.
Still, when the moon sang its silent song, its writhing drop still echoed, lost somewhere within the endless darkness.
Its hand, once stayed, now pressed on. Somewhere out there, something had drawn away a piece of itself, and the moon sought nothing else but to be whole in its name. It funneled through the veil dividing its domain from the ancient dark's, and-
-and as it crossed, a thousand glinting red eyes saw its name, and a hand as large and vast as all closed around its moon-
-and it awoke with human eyes, to find itself in a land it knew not. The droplet of blood it had followed lead here, to a small, mewling corpse, which cried with a hunger it could not sate. This land, as empty of blood as it was empty of all but light and dark, offered nothing to feed the young thing, and it had died halfway between two names.
It was the dark's name that did not know life from death, and the moon's name that did not know beasts from men. This child of both, its nature between two worlds, which needed both to sustain itself, existed only in one.
The moon's heart, all its hearts, cried in sympathy with its new kin. It could not bear to let this newborn die, to let its name be forgotten.
It sang its sweet song in the child beast's veins, and the blood danced its name. It sang, it writhed, it imbibed, and it grew, hunter and hunted now human and hollow. The blood danced, and the darkness loomed, and the echo reverberated something new.
The moon waned, and the young beast and hollow felt its hunger fade with the moon's light. A darker nature faded, a blood-stained nature faded, matted fur thinned to hair and twisted claws gave way to human hands.
Doubly human, now, as the moon understood. Not quite a hunter, not quite a mortal. And, like any newborn, it too would feed upon its own nature and grow.
Somewhere distant, a hand as vast as the void closed tighter around its moon, and the nameless presence knew the ancient dark did not approve. The dark would consume all, be it light or blood, old or child.
The newborn had collapsed to its knees, coughing blood and phlegm onto the ground. It spat the filth from its mouth, and stared at its hands that had once been claws.
"... what the fuck? What was... what did...?"
The moon spoke, needing to comfort the newborn, but it was too young to understand, and the child's words were an infant's babble to the moon. So instead, the moon cooed the newborn's name, hoping it would find comfort in familiarity.
The 'child,' his birth name Edgar, shuddered as a copper-stained shadow clutched his heart. Like the hand of a corpse that nonetheless bled.
His own hand, neither bloody nor rotting, clutched around the hilt of his longsword, its blade buried deep in the belly of a strange and very dead beast. His leather armor was heavy with the slain beast's clotted blood, and mingled with his own where the monster's claws had torn right through his best defenses like so much tissue paper.
The moon sang his name, and the man named Edgar was washed away in a tide of blood and darkness. When it ebbed away, all that was left was the blood.
The moon saw, and did not comprehend. Did the child's name not have its own meaning? What was a name that meant nothing?
A newborn life had faded, leaving only a lifeless corpse bathed in a beast's blood. Not an ounce of darkness remained, but enough blood was left to be itself.
An expenditure of will, and the blood that was at once itself and the dead child became itself once more, remembering the name it once held from who it was.
Edgar. The man's memories echoed in the blood he'd drawn, at once himself and the moon. Eyes familiar and alien looked upon the forest he'd died in, the blood recalling his memories.
Darkroot. I came here after outrunning that damn drake on the bridge. I'd been so full of myself after killing the minotaur, and I thought I might really be the chosen one. But here I am, dead to some monster that wouldn't be out of place in a nightmare.
And yet, he wasn't dead. He was, and wasn't, himself. He was less, and more, no longer human and once again human. There was more to him, he knew, but it was distant and the trickle was slow, choked back as it was by a hand as vast as the darkness between stars.
Something fundamental had changed. He sang with his blood, and felt nothing echo but the sea within himself. Whatever he was now, he was alone here.
The man who was and wasn't Edgar, who was and wasn't the moon, pulled his blade from the guts of a beast familiar and strange. Somehow, something more of himself had found its way here, and he hoped to discover how. And, with hope, it may find its newborn again.
The hunt was on. A distant moon shone its light, even occluded by this land's darkness as it was.
---
++ transmission interrupted ++
---
Quest Interface:
Edgar, at this point, is little more than a mask the moon presence wears, since the majority of itself is held back by something altogether too large. But enough of it still flows that it'll grow back to full strength in time.
In other words, Edgar starts with seven cards and draws one every new chapter. The rules for cards are in the spoiler below. Apologies if they're a bit incoherent, but I'll answer any questions:
The Moon Presence's starting deck looks like this:
The Moon Presence has not yet found other cards, and so cannot yet build a new deck or modify its existing decks.
These are the cards in its hand:
The Moon Presence may put one material into play per turn, may activate each material in play once per turn, and may use that to play cards from its hand. Cards stay in play once played, except for "Cast" type cards, which are removed from play after use. Cards that are removed from play in any way go back into the deck, where they can be drawn again later.
Beyond that, the Moon Presence currently inhabits the body of one "Edgar," an otherwise forgettable warrior who met an unfortunate end against a beast. Due to the Moon Presence's blind meddling, whatever Edgar was or could have been has now been washed down to become another facet of the Moon Presence, his memories and experiences only one more echo in the endlessly flowing blood. His nature is fundamentally changed, and when he next dies he'll find himself awake again in the Hunter's Dream, though its faculties won't be fully accessible since the way back is currently... pinched off, if incompletely.
Lordran's usual problem still persists, but as per the Metascrambler vote, the precise details are unfamiliar even as the overall framework is similar. Nouns, locations, and such may be altered to preserve some sense of discovery, where possible. It is strongly suggested that Edgar find a place of safety, and perhaps some traveling companions, as history has shown that he can die to any old beast. Votes to that end can be freeform, though structure can be provided on request.
The current location is: "Somewhere in a dark wood analogous to Darkroot Forest. The precise location within that forest is unknown, and staying too long might risk a deadly encounter. No enemies, people, or structures are visible from the current location, but the trees themselves exude an air of deep malevolence. It is night, and a dark shadow hangs over the moon."
[X] Bloodborne
[X] Dark Souls
[X] Partial Fusion (the settings remain distinct, but are accessible to each other)
[X] Setting Antagonist: Moon Presence
[X] Helping Hand (special abilities are built, traded, and used as if they were decks in a collectible card game)
[X] Metascrambler (canon is adjusted to render metaknowledge useless)
[X] Dark Souls
[X] Partial Fusion (the settings remain distinct, but are accessible to each other)
[X] Setting Antagonist: Moon Presence
[X] Helping Hand (special abilities are built, traded, and used as if they were decks in a collectible card game)
[X] Metascrambler (canon is adjusted to render metaknowledge useless)
Generation One, Chapter One: Beckon at the Dark
It sang, and the blood echoed.
The moon, silent and nameless, danced against the night, a forgotten god. Those who worshiped it did so without knowing, as every drop of blood upon the lips in hunger was a prayer spoken in its name. It was the hunt, and the hunter, and the hunted. It was all, in all, and all who reveled in the blood. All became as one in the blood, the line between beast and hunter blurring under the light of its pale moon.
The blood ran, and still they drew more. They cultivated it, letting its hunger grow in the veins of those carefully chosen for their resistance to it, and shared the blood among all who would partake. And as the blood entered them, so they became it, and it became them. And so were they cured of their ailments, transformed in part to it, and it they.
It sang, and the blood echoed sweetly, a silent clarion to revel in the hunger of the hunt.
It sang, and the blood echoed, but from far away, its taste unfamiliar.
The moon, silent and unknown, heard the distant echo and knew it not. It called of a fathomless darkness, endless and black. The moon, who once thought it knew the night, saw now that it knew only the stars, and nothing of the void between.
It stirred from its dream, drawn to waking by the unexpected and the unfamiliar. Somewhere far, another was calling its name, and the moon remembered the pleasure of company long forgotten to it.
As much as it gained from the Hunt, it lost much in turn. It looked forward to speaking with another as an equal, for the first time in many moons. Or, even, another that was not already itself.
The nameless moon presence, once a good hunter, and once a city called Yharnam, and now much more, sang the blood again, and sought the distant echo. Somewhere out there, another like it had once been beckoned, and the moon recalled all it had thought long lost. Not merely the dance of the hunt, nor the insatiable hunger, or the savagery in all hearts it touched, but a thing to know and care for.
A vessel, a city, a cradle, a child. Another like itself, that could be like itself apart from itself.
A newborn, a companion.
It sang, and the echo of itself called back. Someone distant drew its blood, and the nameless moon danced in its currents. Somewhere far called to it, a promise of more to come, and it felt the hunger rise again.
The hunter, the beast, the hunt, and the blood, each face revealed anew with every turn of the axis, waxing and waning without end. It sang, and the darkness echoed.
The darkness?
The moon, silent and nameless, was appalled. It knew every depth of the human heart, and was its sinister urge throughout, and yet knew nothing of this. But the darkness echoed when it sang, and the presence new its blood had touched something new and familiar at once.
A human heart, stained not by blood, but by... indistinction. An absence, a void that was nonetheless full of human nature, and which carried no definition of its own.
The moon had thought itself human, once, long ago. Now, it did not know.
It sang, and the darkness sang back, drowning out the moon's echo with its vastness. It called its own name, all and nothing, beginning and end, the darkness which bore and devoured light, and saw no difference between life and death. An eldritch thing more ancient than the moon, with a hunger to devour more than only blood.
The moon, once ready to cross the divide between worlds, now stayed its hand at that thin veil.
This fathomless, deep dark was no newborn like itself. It was an ancient thing, as much as it was nothing, in which all things could be and weren't. And yet, somehow, it was human in a way the moon had long forgotten, and the moon never knew of a human that lacked its blood or hunger.
Still, when the moon sang its silent song, its writhing drop still echoed, lost somewhere within the endless darkness.
Its hand, once stayed, now pressed on. Somewhere out there, something had drawn away a piece of itself, and the moon sought nothing else but to be whole in its name. It funneled through the veil dividing its domain from the ancient dark's, and-
-and as it crossed, a thousand glinting red eyes saw its name, and a hand as large and vast as all closed around its moon-
-and it awoke with human eyes, to find itself in a land it knew not. The droplet of blood it had followed lead here, to a small, mewling corpse, which cried with a hunger it could not sate. This land, as empty of blood as it was empty of all but light and dark, offered nothing to feed the young thing, and it had died halfway between two names.
It was the dark's name that did not know life from death, and the moon's name that did not know beasts from men. This child of both, its nature between two worlds, which needed both to sustain itself, existed only in one.
The moon's heart, all its hearts, cried in sympathy with its new kin. It could not bear to let this newborn die, to let its name be forgotten.
It sang its sweet song in the child beast's veins, and the blood danced its name. It sang, it writhed, it imbibed, and it grew, hunter and hunted now human and hollow. The blood danced, and the darkness loomed, and the echo reverberated something new.
The moon waned, and the young beast and hollow felt its hunger fade with the moon's light. A darker nature faded, a blood-stained nature faded, matted fur thinned to hair and twisted claws gave way to human hands.
Doubly human, now, as the moon understood. Not quite a hunter, not quite a mortal. And, like any newborn, it too would feed upon its own nature and grow.
Somewhere distant, a hand as vast as the void closed tighter around its moon, and the nameless presence knew the ancient dark did not approve. The dark would consume all, be it light or blood, old or child.
The newborn had collapsed to its knees, coughing blood and phlegm onto the ground. It spat the filth from its mouth, and stared at its hands that had once been claws.
"... what the fuck? What was... what did...?"
The moon spoke, needing to comfort the newborn, but it was too young to understand, and the child's words were an infant's babble to the moon. So instead, the moon cooed the newborn's name, hoping it would find comfort in familiarity.
The 'child,' his birth name Edgar, shuddered as a copper-stained shadow clutched his heart. Like the hand of a corpse that nonetheless bled.
His own hand, neither bloody nor rotting, clutched around the hilt of his longsword, its blade buried deep in the belly of a strange and very dead beast. His leather armor was heavy with the slain beast's clotted blood, and mingled with his own where the monster's claws had torn right through his best defenses like so much tissue paper.
The moon sang his name, and the man named Edgar was washed away in a tide of blood and darkness. When it ebbed away, all that was left was the blood.
The moon saw, and did not comprehend. Did the child's name not have its own meaning? What was a name that meant nothing?
A newborn life had faded, leaving only a lifeless corpse bathed in a beast's blood. Not an ounce of darkness remained, but enough blood was left to be itself.
An expenditure of will, and the blood that was at once itself and the dead child became itself once more, remembering the name it once held from who it was.
Edgar. The man's memories echoed in the blood he'd drawn, at once himself and the moon. Eyes familiar and alien looked upon the forest he'd died in, the blood recalling his memories.
Darkroot. I came here after outrunning that damn drake on the bridge. I'd been so full of myself after killing the minotaur, and I thought I might really be the chosen one. But here I am, dead to some monster that wouldn't be out of place in a nightmare.
And yet, he wasn't dead. He was, and wasn't, himself. He was less, and more, no longer human and once again human. There was more to him, he knew, but it was distant and the trickle was slow, choked back as it was by a hand as vast as the darkness between stars.
Something fundamental had changed. He sang with his blood, and felt nothing echo but the sea within himself. Whatever he was now, he was alone here.
The man who was and wasn't Edgar, who was and wasn't the moon, pulled his blade from the guts of a beast familiar and strange. Somehow, something more of himself had found its way here, and he hoped to discover how. And, with hope, it may find its newborn again.
The hunt was on. A distant moon shone its light, even occluded by this land's darkness as it was.
---
++ transmission interrupted ++
---
Quest Interface:
Edgar, at this point, is little more than a mask the moon presence wears, since the majority of itself is held back by something altogether too large. But enough of it still flows that it'll grow back to full strength in time.
In other words, Edgar starts with seven cards and draws one every new chapter. The rules for cards are in the spoiler below. Apologies if they're a bit incoherent, but I'll answer any questions:
Basic rules:
- there is no maximum or minimum deck size, but ratios and material costs will matter a lot
- a deck may have any number of cards with the "Basic" supertype, but only max 4 copies of cards without the "Basic" supertype
- a deck may not have more than one copy of a card with the "Unique" supertype
- character abilities are considered to be 'always on'
- a character draws seven cards at the start of the game, then one card every turn thereafter
- a character cannot hold more than seven cards in hand at a time
- cards that are discarded, killed, etc go back into the deck
- only one ritual material may be played each turn
- cards in play may only be activated once each turn, and become unactivated at the start of their controller's turn
- cards with the "Cast" type are played once for their effect, and are discarded when their effect resolves
- cards with the "Quick" supertype may be played even when it isn't your turn
- "Equipment" cards are initially put into play unattached to a summon, but do not leave play when that summon dies
- "Rune" cards come into play attached to a summon, but leave play when that summon dies
- the combat step may be initiated once per turn
- during combat, summons in play may be declared as attackers
- attacking with a summon counts as activating it; summons can't attack if they were previously activated that turn
- all summons and characters are valid targets for attack, but a match only ends when the other character is defeated
- the other player may assign defenders to intercept attackers
- there is no maximum or minimum deck size, but ratios and material costs will matter a lot
- a deck may have any number of cards with the "Basic" supertype, but only max 4 copies of cards without the "Basic" supertype
- a deck may not have more than one copy of a card with the "Unique" supertype
- character abilities are considered to be 'always on'
- a character draws seven cards at the start of the game, then one card every turn thereafter
- a character cannot hold more than seven cards in hand at a time
- cards that are discarded, killed, etc go back into the deck
- only one ritual material may be played each turn
- cards in play may only be activated once each turn, and become unactivated at the start of their controller's turn
- cards with the "Cast" type are played once for their effect, and are discarded when their effect resolves
- cards with the "Quick" supertype may be played even when it isn't your turn
- "Equipment" cards are initially put into play unattached to a summon, but do not leave play when that summon dies
- "Rune" cards come into play attached to a summon, but leave play when that summon dies
- the combat step may be initiated once per turn
- during combat, summons in play may be declared as attackers
- attacking with a summon counts as activating it; summons can't attack if they were previously activated that turn
- all summons and characters are valid targets for attack, but a match only ends when the other character is defeated
- the other player may assign defenders to intercept attackers
The Moon Presence's starting deck looks like this:
Yharnam Chalice
"First Loran, then Yharnam; like a dream, the pale moon silently beckons all to join the hunt."
Character:
Moon Presence
(Unique Character)
Life 20
Character Ability: Night of the Hunt
- whenever a summon with infection counters is killed in combat, its infection counters are distributed among all other summons in combat with it
- at the start of your turn, all players sacrifice one summon with five or more infection counters
- whenever a non-beast summon with five or more infection counters dies, you gain a "Scourge Beast" summon with Attack 5, Defense 5, and "this summon gains one infection counter at the start of every turn."
"The Old Ones, unable to bear children of their own, nonetheless find children to dote upon."
Ritual Materials: 24
Ritual Blood x10
(Basic Ritual Material)
Only one ritual material may be played each turn
Can active to pay 1 "Ritual Blood" or 1 "any" cost
"One of the basic ingredients used to satiate a holy chalice is this incoagulable blood. When all is melted in blood, all is reborn."
Tomb Mold x10
(Basic Ritual Material)
Only one ritual material may be played each turn
Can activate to pay 1 "Tomb Mold" or 1 "any" cost
"Mold that grows from rotten flesh and blood inside the old labyrinth. Matures to bear giant spores."
Pooling Mercury x4
(Ritual Material)
Only one ritual material may be played each turn
Can activate to pay 1 "Pooling Mercury" or 1 "any" cost
Can activate to deal 1 damage to a summon that has infection counters
"Highly toxic metal once used in a city lost to time, and prized for its ability to injure beasts. The rest of the world knew mercury to inflict madness, but those in Yharnam could hardly tell the difference."
Summons: 20
Yharnamite Huntsman x10
Materials cost: Ritual Blood (1)
(Basic Summon - Human)
Attack 1 / Defense 1
Gains one random ability on summon:
- Ranged (deals combat damage first)
- Guard (takes combat damage first)
- Bombadier (when summoned, auto-casts Molotov Cocktail [deals 1 damage to another summon or 2 damage to a "Beast" summon])
- Alarm (when summoned, auto-casts another Yharnamite Huntsman)
"Ludwig, the first hunter of the healing church, once recruited Yharnamites to serve as hunters. Though poorly equipped, a full mob could sometimes take down a beast, if it was caught by surprise."
Wheelchair Huntsman x4
Materials cost: Ritual Blood (1), any (1)
(Summon - Human)
Attack 3 / Defense 1
Ranged (deals combat damage first)
"These old veterans of the hunt would sooner give up their legs than their guns. And, wouldn't you know it, they did."
Beast-Blooded Huntsman x4
Materials cost: Ritual Blood (1), Tomb Mold (2)
(Summon - Human)
Attack 2 / Defense 3
This summon enters play with one infection counter on it.
"The blood calls to hunters, urging them to embrace their hunger. Those who do tread a thin line between beast and man, and risk becoming the object of the next hunt."
Blood-starved Beast x1
Materials cost: Ritual Blood (1), Tomb Mold (1), Pooling Mercury (2)
(Unique Summon - Beast)
Attack 2 / Defense 2
This summon gains one infection counter at the start of every turn.
This summon gets Attack +1 and Defense +1 for each infection counter on it.
"A beast grows larger the more blood it consumes, and so is never truly satiated."
Abhorrent Beast x1
Materials cost: Ritual Blood (3), Tomb Mold (3), Pooling Mercury (2)
(Unique Summon - Beast)
Attack 5 / Defense 7
This summon gains one infection counter at the start of every turn.
At the start of the combat step on your turn, this summon deals damage to another target summon equal to its infection counters.
"Those who willingly give themselves over to beasthood's embrace are often surprised at how welcoming it is."
Others: 16
Beastly Urge x4
Materials cost: Ritual Blood (1) Pooling Mercury (1)
(Cast)
Add one infection counter to a summon you control that has an infection counter, then it deals damage equal to its infection counters to another summon.
"The beast is a horrific and unwelcome instinct deep within the hearts of men, and all the more alluring for it."
Growing Hunger x4
Materials cost: Ritual Blood (1) Tomb Mold (1), Pooling Mercury (1)
(Quick Cast)
Add one infection counter to all summons you control that have infection counters, then those summons get Attack +1 and Defense +1 until end of turn.
"Those who resist the call to blood most strongly become the most savage beasts when they at last do turn."
Hunter's Saw x4
Materials cost: Ritual blood (1), any (2)
(Equipment)
Pay any (2) and activate this card: attach to a summon you control. May only be done during your turn.
The summon this card is attached to has "when this summon deals damage to summons with infection counters, it deals one additional damage to those summons."
"A hunter's weapons may seem savage, but savagery is the only effective offense against the beasts."
Moon x2
Materials cost: Ritual Blood (2), Tomb Mold (1), Pooling Mercury (1)
(Rune)
As an additional cost to play this card, sacrifice a summon with five or more infection counters.
Search your deck for a "Beast" summon card, put it into play, and attach this card to it.
The summon this card is attached to has "when this summon dies, return it to play activated."
"The gentle light of the moon guides its followers to seek ever more blood."
Yharnam Welcoming Committee x2
Materials Cost: Ritual Blood (2), Tomb Mold (2), any (2)
(Cast)
As an additional cost to play this card, sacrifice all summons named Yharnamite Huntsman you control.
Put a "Yharnam Mob" summon into play whose attack and defense are equal to the number of sacrificed Yharnamite Huntsmen, then place one infection counter on all other summons that have infection counters.
"Away! Away!"
"First Loran, then Yharnam; like a dream, the pale moon silently beckons all to join the hunt."
Character:
Moon Presence
(Unique Character)
Life 20
Character Ability: Night of the Hunt
- whenever a summon with infection counters is killed in combat, its infection counters are distributed among all other summons in combat with it
- at the start of your turn, all players sacrifice one summon with five or more infection counters
- whenever a non-beast summon with five or more infection counters dies, you gain a "Scourge Beast" summon with Attack 5, Defense 5, and "this summon gains one infection counter at the start of every turn."
"The Old Ones, unable to bear children of their own, nonetheless find children to dote upon."
Ritual Materials: 24
Ritual Blood x10
(Basic Ritual Material)
Only one ritual material may be played each turn
Can active to pay 1 "Ritual Blood" or 1 "any" cost
"One of the basic ingredients used to satiate a holy chalice is this incoagulable blood. When all is melted in blood, all is reborn."
Tomb Mold x10
(Basic Ritual Material)
Only one ritual material may be played each turn
Can activate to pay 1 "Tomb Mold" or 1 "any" cost
"Mold that grows from rotten flesh and blood inside the old labyrinth. Matures to bear giant spores."
Pooling Mercury x4
(Ritual Material)
Only one ritual material may be played each turn
Can activate to pay 1 "Pooling Mercury" or 1 "any" cost
Can activate to deal 1 damage to a summon that has infection counters
"Highly toxic metal once used in a city lost to time, and prized for its ability to injure beasts. The rest of the world knew mercury to inflict madness, but those in Yharnam could hardly tell the difference."
Summons: 20
Yharnamite Huntsman x10
Materials cost: Ritual Blood (1)
(Basic Summon - Human)
Attack 1 / Defense 1
Gains one random ability on summon:
- Ranged (deals combat damage first)
- Guard (takes combat damage first)
- Bombadier (when summoned, auto-casts Molotov Cocktail [deals 1 damage to another summon or 2 damage to a "Beast" summon])
- Alarm (when summoned, auto-casts another Yharnamite Huntsman)
"Ludwig, the first hunter of the healing church, once recruited Yharnamites to serve as hunters. Though poorly equipped, a full mob could sometimes take down a beast, if it was caught by surprise."
Wheelchair Huntsman x4
Materials cost: Ritual Blood (1), any (1)
(Summon - Human)
Attack 3 / Defense 1
Ranged (deals combat damage first)
"These old veterans of the hunt would sooner give up their legs than their guns. And, wouldn't you know it, they did."
Beast-Blooded Huntsman x4
Materials cost: Ritual Blood (1), Tomb Mold (2)
(Summon - Human)
Attack 2 / Defense 3
This summon enters play with one infection counter on it.
"The blood calls to hunters, urging them to embrace their hunger. Those who do tread a thin line between beast and man, and risk becoming the object of the next hunt."
Blood-starved Beast x1
Materials cost: Ritual Blood (1), Tomb Mold (1), Pooling Mercury (2)
(Unique Summon - Beast)
Attack 2 / Defense 2
This summon gains one infection counter at the start of every turn.
This summon gets Attack +1 and Defense +1 for each infection counter on it.
"A beast grows larger the more blood it consumes, and so is never truly satiated."
Abhorrent Beast x1
Materials cost: Ritual Blood (3), Tomb Mold (3), Pooling Mercury (2)
(Unique Summon - Beast)
Attack 5 / Defense 7
This summon gains one infection counter at the start of every turn.
At the start of the combat step on your turn, this summon deals damage to another target summon equal to its infection counters.
"Those who willingly give themselves over to beasthood's embrace are often surprised at how welcoming it is."
Others: 16
Beastly Urge x4
Materials cost: Ritual Blood (1) Pooling Mercury (1)
(Cast)
Add one infection counter to a summon you control that has an infection counter, then it deals damage equal to its infection counters to another summon.
"The beast is a horrific and unwelcome instinct deep within the hearts of men, and all the more alluring for it."
Growing Hunger x4
Materials cost: Ritual Blood (1) Tomb Mold (1), Pooling Mercury (1)
(Quick Cast)
Add one infection counter to all summons you control that have infection counters, then those summons get Attack +1 and Defense +1 until end of turn.
"Those who resist the call to blood most strongly become the most savage beasts when they at last do turn."
Hunter's Saw x4
Materials cost: Ritual blood (1), any (2)
(Equipment)
Pay any (2) and activate this card: attach to a summon you control. May only be done during your turn.
The summon this card is attached to has "when this summon deals damage to summons with infection counters, it deals one additional damage to those summons."
"A hunter's weapons may seem savage, but savagery is the only effective offense against the beasts."
Moon x2
Materials cost: Ritual Blood (2), Tomb Mold (1), Pooling Mercury (1)
(Rune)
As an additional cost to play this card, sacrifice a summon with five or more infection counters.
Search your deck for a "Beast" summon card, put it into play, and attach this card to it.
The summon this card is attached to has "when this summon dies, return it to play activated."
"The gentle light of the moon guides its followers to seek ever more blood."
Yharnam Welcoming Committee x2
Materials Cost: Ritual Blood (2), Tomb Mold (2), any (2)
(Cast)
As an additional cost to play this card, sacrifice all summons named Yharnamite Huntsman you control.
Put a "Yharnam Mob" summon into play whose attack and defense are equal to the number of sacrificed Yharnamite Huntsmen, then place one infection counter on all other summons that have infection counters.
"Away! Away!"
The Moon Presence has not yet found other cards, and so cannot yet build a new deck or modify its existing decks.
These are the cards in its hand:
Beast-Blooded Huntsman (summon ritual blood 1, tomb mold 2)
Tomb Mold (basic material)
Growing Hunger (cast ritual blood 1, tomb mold 1, pooling mercury 1)
Tomb Mold (basic material)
Ritual Blood (basic material)
Hunter's Saw (equipment ritual blood 1, any 2)
Yharnamite Huntsman (basic summon ritual blood 1)
Tomb Mold (basic material)
Growing Hunger (cast ritual blood 1, tomb mold 1, pooling mercury 1)
Tomb Mold (basic material)
Ritual Blood (basic material)
Hunter's Saw (equipment ritual blood 1, any 2)
Yharnamite Huntsman (basic summon ritual blood 1)
The Moon Presence may put one material into play per turn, may activate each material in play once per turn, and may use that to play cards from its hand. Cards stay in play once played, except for "Cast" type cards, which are removed from play after use. Cards that are removed from play in any way go back into the deck, where they can be drawn again later.
Beyond that, the Moon Presence currently inhabits the body of one "Edgar," an otherwise forgettable warrior who met an unfortunate end against a beast. Due to the Moon Presence's blind meddling, whatever Edgar was or could have been has now been washed down to become another facet of the Moon Presence, his memories and experiences only one more echo in the endlessly flowing blood. His nature is fundamentally changed, and when he next dies he'll find himself awake again in the Hunter's Dream, though its faculties won't be fully accessible since the way back is currently... pinched off, if incompletely.
Lordran's usual problem still persists, but as per the Metascrambler vote, the precise details are unfamiliar even as the overall framework is similar. Nouns, locations, and such may be altered to preserve some sense of discovery, where possible. It is strongly suggested that Edgar find a place of safety, and perhaps some traveling companions, as history has shown that he can die to any old beast. Votes to that end can be freeform, though structure can be provided on request.
The current location is: "Somewhere in a dark wood analogous to Darkroot Forest. The precise location within that forest is unknown, and staying too long might risk a deadly encounter. No enemies, people, or structures are visible from the current location, but the trees themselves exude an air of deep malevolence. It is night, and a dark shadow hangs over the moon."
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