TEST DRIVE MEME

[theflaws]

TEST DRIVE MEME

PREMISE PLOT ARRIVAL SETTING NAVIGATION

01. ARRIVING IN PELEA
A cold wind singing down from the white-capped mountains which hang blue-black in the distance stirs your cheek, the tall grass all around you. A bough creaks as the wind makes it tremble, and the dappled shadows drift over you, leaves rustling. As you blink awake, you hear the quiet hiss of water over stones. You are not where you once were!

You and a large group of strangers are blinking awake, pulling yourselves up off the dirt, grass, and rubble near a small wooded stream. There is no evidence of civilization in sight, and as you exchange stories you realize that you must decide what to do.

Will you head past the trees and towards the mountains? Deeper into the forest? Stay put and wait for help to arrive? You might even try to meet everyone else, and either convince them to band together... or head their separate ways.

02. CITY SLICKER
There are many cities throughout the world of Pelea, and in most of them player characters, the Flaws, are welcomed as curiosities. Whether they're among the passionate, oft thought as hot-headed, but hospitable folk of the Banner or the noble and haughty people of the Empire, your characters will find a wide variety of cultures, races and simply people to interact with and investigate. They could be seeking employment, answers to the mystery of their arrival or other folk like themselves, or a quiet place to drink away their worries.

03. WILDCARD!

Comments

The Dragonborn | Skyrim

[letitallout]

A - Arrival: Not This Shit Again

[Aila takes a moment to appreciate the fact that for once, she's landed reasonably comfortably, curled on her side with the ground taking most of the weight of her pack, none of her weapons digging into anything, and no part of her hurting any more than expected after the day she's had. Small mercies seem the only kind the Divines are capable of delivering. Or maybe she's just turning into a cynic.

Shrugging out of her backpack with a surprisingly graceful wiggle for someone in full armor, Aila sits up, peels off her helmet, and curses though without any real conviction. Nothing's attacking and everyone else is acting just as disoriented as she is--hardly worth any emphatic oaths. Correspondingly, Aila decides to give optimism a try for a change. She's been spared the hike down Tamriel's tallest mountain, at least. A good thing! And this is a perfectly nice woodland, none of that desert or swamp nonsense. And--

Nope. Not working. The gods or the Elder Scrolls or the daedra or what-the-hell-ever need to knock this shit off entirely. Groping around in her pack one-handed, she quickly locates what she's looking for and comes out with a wine bottle. Popping the cork with a dagger and a deft flick of her wrist, she immediately throws back a long swig.]

Well, damn.

[Aila offers the bottle to the nearest other person. She can't be the only one who needs a drink.]

B - Arrival 2: Worst. Scout Trip. Ever.

The weird--and weirdly friendly--redheaded woman in scaly medieval fantasy armor had disappeared into the trees a few hours ago, with a cheerful promise to be back before dark. Now, here she is, with the addition of a dead stag over her shoulders.]

Plenty of game in the woods. Going to be sick of venison by the time we hit a town, though.

[Aila's accent lilts, like she's from Sweden or Norway, though it's been centuries since the Scandinavians regularly wandered around armed with sword and bow.

She drops the deer in a pile of floppy limbs and rolls her shoulders now that the weight's off. From her pack, a well-worn hide affair, she produces a knife, clearly a blade for unglamorous work like skinning and chopping, and squints at the edge.]

Get a fire started while I dress this, would you?

[She turns back to her kill with every confidence a fire is going to happen. As far as Aila's concerned, she's being nice in assigning the easy job to someone else. Dressing a carcass is real gross.]

C - Marketplace: Side Quest

[Aila hadn't meant to get sidetracked in her quest to find out what the hell is going on, but she's a damned sucker for sob stories--so here she is, running errands for a cranky old shopkeeper. The crochety bastard really does need the help; he's clearly got some kind of wasting illness Aila doesn't know how to treat. The least she can do is make things easier on him.

Which is why she's dragging a recalcitrant goat down the street on a lead.

Such a damned sucker.

At last fed up with such cruel treatment as being forced to amble along for several minutes with no food on offer, the goat bleats in protest and pulls back hard enough that the lead rope snaps. It goes tearing off towards whatever its tiny hircine mind is envisioning, such obstacles as market stalls or people no impediment to its run for freedom. After an incredulous moment of wondering why these things happen to her, Aila takes up the chase.]

Get back here, you hairy idiot!

[So yeah, there's a tall, athletic redheaded woman in the marketplace, sprinting after a goat and yelling. Like you do.]

D - Wildcard

[Heroic demigod of legend likes dragon slaying, long walks on the beach or literally any other terrain, and reverse-pickpocketing embarrassing literature onto jarls.]

C, because goats

[teratias]

[Waver's adjusted to certain parts of being a stranger in a strange land well enough. He can get food and lodging for himself without a fuss, he's gotten skilled at not running his mouth at every opportunity, and he's found that he can learn a city's layout if given a few days. Moreover, he's learned what not to bat an eye at when in a new place, lest he betray the fact that he's from another world entirely.

A woman chasing after a goat is something to bat an eye at.

Truth be told, he's about ready to pack it in for the day when the goat barrels past him, and the words hairy idiot makes it clear that this is a problem. So as Aila runs past, he can only offer:]

There's a solid wall up ahead, try and get it to go left. That turn's a dead end.

[letitallout]

[She's not used to common sense out of most people, and also that stupid goat's pretty fast, so Aila just waves in acknowledgement as she and the goat go speeding past Waver. But she was listening.

With a smooth gesture that doesn't break her stride, she scoops up a rotten cabbage that some vendor let roll into the street and launches it at the goat with an impressive overhand throw--where it misses to the right and splats against the wall of the T intersection. The goat, spooked, veers left and into the dead end alley, pursued by a Dragonborn.

What, you think Aila wants to deal with a goat covered in slimy cabbage bits?

In true comedic fashion, the rest of the chase happens off-screen. There's a shout of triumph, a bleat of alarm, and a thump and crash, as if a grown woman has just cornered and then tackled a goat. Soon thereafter, the two reappear, Aila once again dragging the goat along on a lead, this time carefully inspected for weak spots.]

Thank you, stranger.

[teratias]

--Yeah. Uh.

[Waver blinks, blindslided not just by Aila's speed but how damn good that aim was. A scripted comedy couldn't have done that better, and the fact he's thinking like that just adds to the ridiculousness of the situation.]

That was ridiculously well executed.

[letitallout]

Goats aren't too bright.

[Clearly he means outwitting the thing, not the throw, right?

Aila's breath is already slowing, and she looks none the worse for wear. The goat looks disgruntled, but goats always look disgruntled.]

[teratias]

You think most people could make a throw that accurate?

[Waver's at least determined to clarify his point. And to offer the goat a sidelong glance, if only to ensure that it isn't eating the merchandise of some other vendor.]

[letitallout]

I'm not most people.

[Nor is she overly burdened by modesty, but her smile is wry enough to suggest she doesn't take herself too seriously.]

Aila Steady-Hand.

[She offers her name with a bit of a nod. Maybe the wry smile is because she realizes how appropriate her clan name sounds in this context.]

[teratias]

Waver. Name less indicative of nature than yours.

[It is a pitiful attempt at a joke, but it feels like the best way to avoid any judgement on his own name.]

Were you taking your friend for a walk, or returning a runaway?

c.

[snaphiss]

[Mara has never seen a goat before. She has no idea what a goat is. It's loud and awkward-shaped and bleating wildly and a woman is running after it, but maybe that's normal on this awful backwater planet. It's her the girl's equine-screamer and she needs it back for its delicious scream-milk.]

[This is ridiculous.]

[The creature runs toward Mara, and she puts out her hand, closes her eyes, and concentrates, feeling the Force flow through her, waiting, feeling it fill her with potential and power and-]

[The screamer runs right past Mara. Well, that didn't work. Dryly, she looks to the girl still chasing the screamer.] Is that thing yours?

[letitallout]

[In the moment she has before her run carries her entirely past Mara, Aila answers. She's nice like that.]

No, just delivering it.

[She'll figure out what the heck that pose with the hands was supposed to be after she catches her fugitive livestock.

The goat caroms off a pile of empty crates, toppling them and forcing Aila to hurdle the sudden obstacle--which she does, almost gracefully. At least, she doesn't turn an ankle landing.]

[snaphiss]

[Mara just keeps herself from sighing before turning to run after the thing along with the other girl. If she were faster, if her hold on the Force were more reliable, if the screamer hadn't just kicked a cart in her way-]

[Rather than bounding over it, she leaps on top of it, and uses the momentum to push her farther forward. She grabs a rock and tries to throw it at the screamer's hooves, attempting to knock it over so the other girl can catch the blasted thing.]

[letitallout]

[Today in the Olympics: 200-meter freestyle goat chase. The runner from Tamriel is in the lead, but it's still anyone's race.]

Don't hurt it!

[Aila yells over her shoulder in irritation, which distracts her enough that she goes plowing into a bystander foolish enough to think he could step into the street and not be run over by a Viking woman pursuing livestock.

Her "sorry!" is somewhat muffled by the shoulder roll she executes to maintain her momentum, but it's sincere, believe her. She's back on her feet smoothly--only to trip over the goat, which Mara has indeed knocked to the ground with a well-placed throw.

Aila's loudly-expressed opinion of this situation redacted as unsuitable for a family RP thread.]

[snaphiss]

[Mara just rolls her eyes and walks over to the woman wrestling on the floor with the screamer. Or maybe she's caught it? The thing squirms so much, it's hard to tell.]

Are you happy now?

[letitallout]

I am always happy. I am a ray of gods-damned sunshine.

[She hisses, attempting to pin a pissed-off goat.]

[snaphiss]

[Force, is this what talking to Mara is like? No, she doesn't want to know.]

Then you probably don't need any more help. [Yep. She'll just watch.]

A

[animated]

[ It honestly takes him a moment to realize he’s being offered a drink because he’s too stuck on staring at her armor. It would be easy to assume she got plucked out of the local renaissance faire, but Charlie knows, insofar as he’s done a great deal of research on the subject, and that looks way too real to be a costume.

At last, his eyes finally land on the bottle of wine, and he realizes he’s being rude. ]

Ah, thank you but no thank you. I’d rather hold off on the drinks until after I figure out where I am.

… Or at least until I get fed up with trying.

[letitallout]

You're in the woods.

[Aila shrugs and takes another long hit off the bottle. Now that she's pulled the cork, the sand is running and the wine won't last forever. Or maybe it will; she did steal it from the spirit realm while no one in the Hall of Valor was looking. Who knows how a god's wine works? Damn good vintage, though.

...This guy is wearing the weirdest clothes. She's (barely) too polite to ask, but not too polite not to stare openly.]

[animated]

[ Even in the face of the unknown, her matter-of-fact answer draws a laugh out of him. ]

Thanks for clearing that up. I was wondering what these tall sticks were.

[ It’s hard to miss the way she just stares at him over her wine bottle, and his eyebrows go up. It’s only fair, considering he was staring at her earlier, but he’s beginning to wonder if his assumption that her armor is genuine is actually correct. ]

Do I have something on my shirt or-?

[letitallout]

[No. In fact, his shirt is suspiciously clean.]

You're not really dressed for this, stranger.

[She, on the other hand looks like she has been tromping around the woods for a while, if the smears of dirt and other things--suggestively rust brown things, as a matter of fact--on her armor are any indication.]

[animated]

[ He casts an obvious glance between the two of them. Yes, she looks much more prepared to be traipsing around in the woods, and for fighting whatever might live in said woods. ]

It could be worse. At least I'm dressed.

[ Look on the bright side! He's armed as well, though it's not obvious by just looking at him since his weapons are occupying the lining of his jacket. ]

I have to ask, is the armor like a normal thing where you come from?

[letitallout]

This? No.

[Aila is only slightly smug as she answers the question she thinks he's asking..."is dragonscale armor a normal thing?"]

[animated]

[ Well. They could be miscommunicating about worse things. ]

Just you, then? Because where I come from, armor went out of fashion like a hundred years ago.

B

[usynlig]

[A weird and weirdly friendly redheaded woman in scale medieval fantasy armour and a friendly goth walk into a bar. Well, if by bar one means the woods, then that's absolutely what's happened.

Dukken's no boyscout but, to his credit, he's not only stuck around waiting for her to come back but made himself useful by collecting firewood and tinder. By the time she returns he's gotten a small, steady flame going - in no small part thanks to the matches and lighter in his pockets - and is sitting his skinny ass down on a log holding his hands out to warm them.

He turns his head at the rustling of her approach, mouth hanging open a little at the dead animal slung over her shoulder. God and she's so matter of fact about it, too. But somehow that all makes sense, what with the armour and everything. It's pretty fucking cool, if you ask him.]

Shit... [He shifts on the log to face her a little better with a smile that almost reaches his eyes.] Did you just... take that down on your own? With a sword? [He cuffs out an awed little laugh, his first since waking up in this strange new place with his own blood on his hands.]

sorry for the wait, I was travelling

[letitallout]

Maybe they run down deer with swords where you're from, but I used a bow.

[When she lets her kill drop, the tip of a longbow and a few feathered arrow shafts can be seen poking up over her shoulder.

Aila's not quite deadpan enough for it to read as an insult, but it suggests her sense of humor is pretty dry. Unlike the squelching noises from the carcass as she begins to dress it.]

*chuffs (no worries!)

[dukken]

[He stares, meets her remark with a snort.]

Still cool, for the record. [A beat. He listens for a moment to the slick, wet, velvety noises as she works. That's a lot of meat and it's getting late.]

You want any help with that? [Rising, he dusts off his jeans.] Holding something, maybe, or...?