There's been some debate about the RP value of Exanima, I thought I'd post my journal here so people can see what sort of narrative you can come up with in this setting. Hopefully some of you will enjoy it.
Some notes:
- It's insanely long, you may want to grab a drink and/or plan some breaks
- It makes a few assumptions about the game world that may prove to be totally wrong, such as just how frequent and accepted Thaumaturgy is in the Overworld.
- No one's reviewed it yet, and English is not my native language, so it may be full of typos and errors, especially the last few entries
- It's FULL OF MEGA SPOILERS
- And finally it was my first game, prior to many dozen hours in the arena, I kinda sucked, so don't throw rocks at me I swear I'm nice! XD
Also very important, all credit for the story really goes to BM, I'm just narrating it, they came up with it!
Anyhow, here goes! <wall of text>
As it turns out I'll have to post this one entry at a time so as to not explode the forum's database It's also going to take some time because of anti-spammer security.
+++++++++++
A rude awakening
[The small, unmarked, leather-bound journal is packed with loose notes on papers and parchments. It is covered in filth, blood stains and is overall pretty battered. For the most part, it is written in high quality script by an expert hand using black ink]
I awaken in a dark, damp storeroom with nothing but the cloth on my back and a bit of light from a nearby torch. I'm not quite sure how I got here, or where here is for that matter. Come to think of it, I don't recall much of anything about myself besides my name. Clearly something is not right, I'd best start writing accounts of my deeds lest I forget again.
Come to think of it, this is, pardon the language, downright messed up. I can't feel any signs of head trauma on me, nothing bleeding or bruised anyhow. How does one forget everything short of major, life threatening head trauma?
Then there's this letter I found in my trouser pocket: I'm missing the beginning of it, but it suggests I was sent here by someone, to help someone else or get some information from him. That's not much to go on...
I notice now the smell. The putrid, acrid smell of decomposing flesh. Where the hell am I? The smell of death warns me I best find some means to defend myself. Perhaps some wild beast made this building it's home, or maybe it's a bandit lair!
The top of one of these barrels will make a nice substitute for a shield, and perhaps I can use one of the metal stakes I found tucked away in a box as a makeshift weapon. Anyhow, can't stay in here forever, and I don't dare call for help... Best open that door over there and try to get some more information about my situation.
Some notes:
- It's insanely long, you may want to grab a drink and/or plan some breaks
- It makes a few assumptions about the game world that may prove to be totally wrong, such as just how frequent and accepted Thaumaturgy is in the Overworld.
- No one's reviewed it yet, and English is not my native language, so it may be full of typos and errors, especially the last few entries
- It's FULL OF MEGA SPOILERS
- And finally it was my first game, prior to many dozen hours in the arena, I kinda sucked, so don't throw rocks at me I swear I'm nice! XD
Also very important, all credit for the story really goes to BM, I'm just narrating it, they came up with it!
Anyhow, here goes! <wall of text>
As it turns out I'll have to post this one entry at a time so as to not explode the forum's database It's also going to take some time because of anti-spammer security.
+++++++++++
A rude awakening
[The small, unmarked, leather-bound journal is packed with loose notes on papers and parchments. It is covered in filth, blood stains and is overall pretty battered. For the most part, it is written in high quality script by an expert hand using black ink]
I awaken in a dark, damp storeroom with nothing but the cloth on my back and a bit of light from a nearby torch. I'm not quite sure how I got here, or where here is for that matter. Come to think of it, I don't recall much of anything about myself besides my name. Clearly something is not right, I'd best start writing accounts of my deeds lest I forget again.
Come to think of it, this is, pardon the language, downright messed up. I can't feel any signs of head trauma on me, nothing bleeding or bruised anyhow. How does one forget everything short of major, life threatening head trauma?
Then there's this letter I found in my trouser pocket: I'm missing the beginning of it, but it suggests I was sent here by someone, to help someone else or get some information from him. That's not much to go on...
I notice now the smell. The putrid, acrid smell of decomposing flesh. Where the hell am I? The smell of death warns me I best find some means to defend myself. Perhaps some wild beast made this building it's home, or maybe it's a bandit lair!
The top of one of these barrels will make a nice substitute for a shield, and perhaps I can use one of the metal stakes I found tucked away in a box as a makeshift weapon. Anyhow, can't stay in here forever, and I don't dare call for help... Best open that door over there and try to get some more information about my situation.
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