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Welcome to Memory, yet another CYOA game. This game has one special mechanic that needs talking about before the game starts! Memory uses an idea I've been toying around with quite a bit, that is, reactive character generation. In this game, you won't start by starting as a small child or as a new character. No, you'll start as someone who already has abilities and skills. Instead of training them, or making decisions before we know what's up, we'll dive into the memories of the character and make the decisions as needed. An example quote:The cybermastiff advances, menacingly, its eyes trained on your every move. It hasn't deployed its gatling guns yet, but you knows you're only instants away from death. You: Memory, in this case, is a resource. If it turns out that in your past, you were an elite hacker, then that fact will, in its own way, give you strengths and weaknesses. There will also be deeper excursions into your memory, that may affect how things turn out in the present. There's also a tantalizing chance that we may venture into the future. A few other notes You do not have plot armor. Bad decisions can get you killed or wreak horrible consequences which you did not intend. I can’t tell you where we’ll be in the future, because I myself do not know. What happens in this game is up to the voters. I’ll limit myself to providing the world and adjudicating Dice or other methods of RNG will be used to determine some things. Please vote in the following manner ##Vote: A, i will be using ctrl-f to make sure I don't miss votes, so votes not formatted properly may be missed.  soundtrack There is white, blinding eternity. It surrounds you. Envelops you like a cocoon. There is nothing, other than You, and Eternity. It would be blinding. If you had eyes. You do not. You are not even aware of what eyes are. Nor do you know if they are a thing you desire to have. Time does not pass here. You are not even aware that time is a thing you should be aware of. There are no feelings. No sadness. No joy. There are no needs. No hunger. No thirst. No boredom. You don't even remember they exist. There are no ills. No harm can reach you. No pain can be felt. No fear. No grief. They are concepts beyond your understanding. There is only you. There is only Void. If you could think of it, you might try to feel the edges of the endless Void. But you cannot. If you could, you would find it has none. A sliver of thought. It breaches the Void. It struggles to come to life. To fight against the concept that there is only Void. Only blinding whiteness forever. It feels like a hairline fracture in the Void. A sliver through which darkness pours into the blinding expanse of whitness. A single concept. Identity. A Name. You had one once. You remember. The first Memory. The stone upon which all other Memories rest. Your identity. The building block of who you are: You are a: A.) Man B.) Woman Your name is: C.) John Glenn D.) Anna Fischer E.) Jing Haipeng F.) Petr Klimuk H.) Susan Kilrain I.) Arthur Pendergast J1.) Write In (I reserve the right to veto if we go for something absurd like "dongs mcdongs") J2.) Write In (I reserve the right to veto if we go for something absurd like "dongs mcdongs") J3.) Write In (I reserve the right to veto if we go for something absurd like "dongs mcdongs") J4.) Write In (I reserve the right to veto if we go for something absurd like "dongs mcdongs") J#.) Write In (I reserve the right to veto if we go for something absurd like "dongs mcdongs") But you are more than a name. It comes back to you, the crack expands, another Memory struggles its way in. It forces its way through the widening darkness, and you feel Pain. A thing you had forgotten existed. How? How did you forget Pain? You almost wish you could forget it again. Blinding searing pain. You remember: K.) The Agony of Death: The lancing agony as a razor sharp shard of metal pierced your space suit. The, hiss of oxygen escaping with your lifeblood. The split instant between seeing it go straight through your chest, and feeling the pain of ten thousand red hot needles piercing you, straight through. The fear, clutching at your insides as you breathed your last. The frenzied thrashing as you knew, knew without a shadow of doubt, that you were dying. The sudden fatigue, as the darkness flooded your consciousness, and cold seized your extremities... L.) The Weight of Grief: Loss. There are few emotions as powerful. It seizes you with intensity. It floods your every sense. It even replaces the pain, layer after layer of nuanced loss. You know not what it is you’ll never have again, only that its absence means perpetual misery. You cannot hold back tears. Its gone. Forever. M.) The Joy of Creation: You can feel it. The joy of a puzzle solved. The sheer joy of watching your creation walk. Its six metallic spindly legs bending and flexing, advancing, step after stuttering step. The long robotic head glancing, learning as it looks. The satisfaction of having taken the first step of many. Of having beaten a challenge, and arming yourself to face another. Teetering on the edge of a perfect moment, knowing there’s more to do, but that for now, it is enough to have done. N.) The Thrill of Battle: The adrenaline surging through your body. Every sense sharpened. The acrid scent of old sweat, collecting on your clothes, contrasting against the smell of seared flesh. The rustling sound of movement among the trees. Every sense focused on a single instinct. Survival. At any cost. O.) The Terror of Helplessness: The blaring sound of the alarms, their red glow illuminating the dark hallway. The intense blaring noise flooding your ears. Your heart, pumping against your chest. The knowledge that your fate, and the fate of all five hundred people aboard, is not in your hands, but in the hands of other. That no matter what you do, in an instant, the world could become fire and chaos and void. The sweat running down your forehead as you realize that yes, death might be seconds away, and nothing you do can help prevent it. P.) The Fullness of Void: The memory is just that. Pure, unending bleakness. Eternal white on white. Stretching forever. Broken by a suddenly by an explosion of brilliant light...
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Apr 28, 2015 23:36
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| # ? Apr 26, 2024 03:37 |
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##Vote: AIM
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Apr 28, 2015 23:45
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I was going to go with robot building initially, but we already have a CYOA with a robot builder. People seem to gravitate towards craftiness and magery and what have you in these parts. How about we just go FULL BLOWN ACTION HEROOOO for once. Just for the sake of variety  Choices: A.) I am a Man J1.) My name is Max Jackson N.) The Thrill of Battle: The adrenaline surging through your body. Every sense sharpened. The acrid scent of old sweat, collecting on your clothes, contrasting against the smell of seared flesh. The rustling sound of movement among the trees. Every sense focused on a single instinct. Survival. At any cost.
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Apr 28, 2015 23:47
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Theantero posted:I was going to go with robot building initially, but we already have a CYOA with a robot builder. People seem to gravitate towards craftiness and magery and what have you in these parts. How about we just go FULL BLOWN ACTION HEROOOO for once. Just for the sake of variety
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Apr 28, 2015 23:49
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Ralith posted:Because we get enough of that from popular media The only media that matters is internet CYOAs  We need varied representation!
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Apr 28, 2015 23:52
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A) Man J2) God M) The Joy of Creation
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Apr 28, 2015 23:54
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As a heads up, the current plan is to update roughly every 2 days. Given how real life works this is subject to rather extreme fluctuations.
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Apr 29, 2015 04:37
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A, I, P Space mage named after King Arthur why not?
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Apr 29, 2015 07:55
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##Vote: AIP
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Apr 29, 2015 17:54
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##vote: AIM
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Apr 29, 2015 18:19
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##vote: BJN J3) "Hellbent"
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Apr 29, 2015 18:24
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##Vote: BEM
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Apr 29, 2015 18:30
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update in 4ish hours, so if you wanna get votes in this is your chance.
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Apr 30, 2015 20:44
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 The cracks in the void widen. You do not want this. You don't want the blinding searing pain jabbing into your forehead like a sledgehammer slamming into it over and over again. You would scream, if you had a mouth. Instead all you do is shudder and twitch as you become aware of your body. Feelings and knowledge flood your mind, images, half unseen. The doors of a shuttle slamming shut. Looking down and seeing red ruin where once you had a hand. A park at night, warm breeze wafting around you. The sound of an alarm screeching danger. The taste of apricots. Thirst. A deep yearning for something that is missing. But as these things assail your senses, one feeling above all dominates. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. You can't focus. You can't think. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. Make it stop. Please. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. If you could move your hands you would try to break your skull open to get at the pain. But you can't. The exist, you know they're there. It hurts, and you can't move them. Almost unnoticed, a painful prick in your arm. All your brain can do is keep screaming in horror at the pain. You can almost feel your sanity trying to claw its way out of your skull. It hurts. Hurt is too tame of a word. There's a supernova in your brain. There is only sheer unending agony. The memories continue to flash by you, flooding the void. Screams of the dying. The smell of roasting flesh. Drinking water after a long time in the sun. The way grass feels between your toes. An alarm screeching danger. Lust. Hunger. The feel of bones breaking. The feeling as sleep overtakes you. But the pain is too much. You can't hold on to any of the memories. Like water being held in a colander, they escape, and all that is left is agony. Unending pain. You wish you were dead. The pain is eternal. It is formless and floods every inch of your being. Slowly, gradually, it seems to recede. It seems like you may be able to think about something other than the pain. Ideas dance at the edge of consciousness. Arthur. Yes. That meant something once. It tugs at a corner of your brain. Your name. Arthur. It takes what seems like an eternity, but the connection is there. Yes. That's you. Arthur. It feels comfortable. Like a well worn shirt. You seem content with that for an instant, before your brain jumps to the next question. Where are you? Its a good question. All you can see right now is darkness. But maybe that's because your eyes are closed? Good deduction. You try opening them. It takes far more effort than it should, but you manage it just fine. More darkness. Not much progress. What now? Are you blind? Normally this might send a surge of panic through you, but you seem to be beyond the possibility of that emotion. In fact, you're on the edge of almost being... happy? That is strange. You know it is. But you don't really resist it. You relax, and for the first time in an eternity. You sleep. As you sleep, you dream. They are pleasant dreams. Dreams of connections and cables. Of scuttling six legged friends. Of triumph. Dreams of building and soldering. But among them are mixed other, stranger dreams. A dream of empty white walls, a dream of your pulse pounding as you look over a ledge. Those quickly go however, leaving behind only pleasant and happy feelings, of tinkering and assembling. You do not know how long you dream. Not long enough. Your eyes flutter open, and this time there isn't darkness. There is instead an intense white light and a shrill alarm blaring. You sit up, trying to think through the haze of having just awoken. Its very clear you were laying in a... pod of sorts. Its tubular at least, and hinged on a side. It is currently open, or else you'd still be inside. Five other open pods surround the central pillar of the room, a tall white machine with elegant monitors simply built into its side. One per pod. Each pod is numbered in stern black numbers, from one to six. You are sitting up in the pod numbered #3. Six panels of light keep the room illuminated, casting light from the ceiling. The room is square, to one end is a door, a blinking red panel urgently blinking to its right. On the opposite side, what looks to be a bank of computers on a raised dais, clearly designed for overlooking the pods. A third wall has what seems to be a sliding door, with a simple palm mechanism to open it. The "door" is tall and narrow, probably too narrow to squeeze through, suggesting perhaps a different purpose.  The pods look something like this. But open. Also in white. The air in the room smells clean and fresh, and the six fans in the room are buzzing along, while the temperature seems comfortable, if not a little cold. Perhaps the cause of the cold could be due to the lack of clothes? It takes you a handful of seconds to consider the room, while the alarm still blares, loudly. "Code Black" over and over again. Its a shrill mechanical voice, clearly designed to galvanize people into action, but it grates on your ears. You: A.) Want to go fiddle with the computers B.) Want to investigate the pods more thoroughly C.) Want to see what's up with that small door D.) Want to look at the central pillar and screw with that E.) Are getting out of here! There's a door, its time to move! F.) Want to take a minute and think really hard to see if I remember anything. Anything at all! N1.) Write In N2.) Write In N3.) Write In Memory Choices (remember, picking memories now limits your options in the future) G.) Don't remember anything. Argh. Its so frustrating. H.) Know exactly what a "code black" is. I.) Can confidently identify these pods. J.) Have a feeling that you know what the narrow door is for. K.) Need to run a diagnosis on yourself, and know how L.) Start to recite poetry. Useful, right? M.) Write in (if a suggestion is impossible, I'll let you know) M1.) Write in (if a suggestion is impossible, I'll let you know) M2.) Write in (if a suggestion is impossible, I'll let you know) TheCog fucked around with this message at 01:51 on May 1, 2015 |
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May 1, 2015 01:47
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B.G.
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May 1, 2015 02:31
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HiHo ChiRho posted:B.G. I like ##BG.
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May 1, 2015 03:29
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##Vote: BH Knowing what code black is will probably help our survivability quite a bit.
Lazaruise fucked around with this message at 08:51 on May 1, 2015 |
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May 1, 2015 07:15
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##Vote: AH because waking up clueless in a scary spaceship is a bit played out Also, I feel like I'm the only one who read the instructions on vote formatting 
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May 1, 2015 08:30
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##Vote: BK Let's be a space doctor!
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May 1, 2015 10:30
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EG
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May 1, 2015 14:16
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| # ? Apr 26, 2024 03:37 |
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##Vote: EG
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May 1, 2015 15:47
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