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IRON DM 2023 Tournament Thread
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<blockquote data-quote="Snarf Zagyg" data-source="post: 9180527" data-attributes="member: 7023840"><p><strong>Memory is Burning (A Ten Candles Adventure)</strong></p><p></p><p><u>Ingredients</u></p><p>Memory Merchant</p><p>Fading Light</p><p>Labyrinth of Echoes</p><p>Serious String</p><p>Rainbow Masquerade</p><p>Harrowing Reading</p><p></p><p>[SPOILER]</p><p><strong>This is a game of tragic horror. Because of the subject matter of this scenario, literal and metaphorical, it is <u>not</u> recommended for all groups or casual play. </strong></p><p></p><p>No one knows who made first contact. All you know is that it was the end of humanity. The Color, so-called because they had no bodies but appeared as shifting prismatic essences, announced only with the strong discordant sounds of a string orchestra playing out-of-tune instruments in an echo chamber (perhaps it was their language), were invulnerable to everything we could throw at them. The only thing we knew about them was that they hated us. Hated our humanity. Hated that we were not the same as them. In less than a year, billions died. The light of humanity is nearly out, if not extinguished. The Color has brought darkness. Are you the last? You do not know. Your scientific outpost on a remote planet lost all contact a long time ago.</p><p></p><p>Your small group of scientists hatched a desperate plan; for entertainment purposes, a company had invented and sold memory machines, allowing people to share memories and explore vast memoryscapes from long ago that were indistinguishable from reality. All of you worked tirelessly and integrated the machine with the outpost’s computer and fusion reactor, downloading your consciousnesses into it. If your bodies could not survive, at least your minds would.</p><p></p><p>You went from memory to memory, history to history, sometimes staying a day, sometimes years, then looking for a door to the next in this maze of reflected memories, each time inhabiting a new person. Now, you are in New York City. You arrived here in 1982, within the memories of members of the dispossessed African-American and Latino gay and transgender communities. In the last two years, you’ve found family and meaning in the ball competitions. A riot of color, the kind that means love and not hate. A community of people celebrating realness, allowing them to be who they are.</p><p></p><p>It’s now 1984. Your friends are dying. The City itself seems to be turning against you, with the cold stares of newly empowered yuppies acting as a constant rebuke. After a triumph at a ball, a competitor approaches and reads you.</p><p></p><p><em>Isn’t there a sale at Payless you should be attending? You think you’re on the road to being a legend, but you couldn’t make it from here to the door without me pointing the way. </em></p><p>Then you think you see a flash of color in her eyes and hear the faint sound of a strong discordant string note…</p><p><em>You may have won this contest, but you can’t win. I’m in your mind. A little voice that is going to eat away at you until this …. whole … world …. comes crashing down. </em></p><p><em></em></p><p> <em></em>She shakes her head, as if coming out of a trance. But you know already. The Color has found you. The Color is in the memory machine. It all makes sense now. The days have been growing shorter. The deaths of your friends all around you. The hate that seems to keep increasing.</p><p></p><p>You rush to tell your friends, and you all realize that none of you has seen the door to another memory in the two years that you have been here. And then the next day, the sun barely rises. Panic sets in, as people rush around, turning to god or science for an explanation, not realizing that they are just echoes of a memory. But you know what is happening.</p><p></p><p>The Color is coming for you. The Color is coming for this world. And the Color can inhabit these memory shadows. The cops. The angry yuppies. Your landlord. And as the Color gets more powerful, the very memoryscape itself starts to break down. Each day getting shorter? That’s just your perception of the memory itself being erased while you are in it. You sit down with the others and do some quick calculations. You have maybe eight days, maybe a fortnight, before the darkness is total.</p><p></p><p>The City itself is on the verge of collapse. The streets are dangerous. But your community is holding fast, and even holding a masquerade ball tonight at the Center on 13th Street. Can you turn back the Color? Can you find a door? Can you bring back the light?</p><p></p><p></p><p><strong><em>Areas of Note</em></strong></p><p>Ballroom, Houses (of Xtravaganza, etc.), Washington Square, 6th Precinct Station House, Christopher Street Pier, St. Vincent’s Hospital</p><p></p><p></p><p><strong><em>Goal</em></strong></p><p>Find a way out. <em>Live. Survive. Pose.</em></p><p></p><p>[/SPOILER]</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Snarf Zagyg, post: 9180527, member: 7023840"] [B]Memory is Burning (A Ten Candles Adventure)[/B] [U]Ingredients[/U] Memory Merchant Fading Light Labyrinth of Echoes Serious String Rainbow Masquerade Harrowing Reading [SPOILER] [B]This is a game of tragic horror. Because of the subject matter of this scenario, literal and metaphorical, it is [U]not[/U] recommended for all groups or casual play. [/B] No one knows who made first contact. All you know is that it was the end of humanity. The Color, so-called because they had no bodies but appeared as shifting prismatic essences, announced only with the strong discordant sounds of a string orchestra playing out-of-tune instruments in an echo chamber (perhaps it was their language), were invulnerable to everything we could throw at them. The only thing we knew about them was that they hated us. Hated our humanity. Hated that we were not the same as them. In less than a year, billions died. The light of humanity is nearly out, if not extinguished. The Color has brought darkness. Are you the last? You do not know. Your scientific outpost on a remote planet lost all contact a long time ago. Your small group of scientists hatched a desperate plan; for entertainment purposes, a company had invented and sold memory machines, allowing people to share memories and explore vast memoryscapes from long ago that were indistinguishable from reality. All of you worked tirelessly and integrated the machine with the outpost’s computer and fusion reactor, downloading your consciousnesses into it. If your bodies could not survive, at least your minds would. You went from memory to memory, history to history, sometimes staying a day, sometimes years, then looking for a door to the next in this maze of reflected memories, each time inhabiting a new person. Now, you are in New York City. You arrived here in 1982, within the memories of members of the dispossessed African-American and Latino gay and transgender communities. In the last two years, you’ve found family and meaning in the ball competitions. A riot of color, the kind that means love and not hate. A community of people celebrating realness, allowing them to be who they are. It’s now 1984. Your friends are dying. The City itself seems to be turning against you, with the cold stares of newly empowered yuppies acting as a constant rebuke. After a triumph at a ball, a competitor approaches and reads you. [I]Isn’t there a sale at Payless you should be attending? You think you’re on the road to being a legend, but you couldn’t make it from here to the door without me pointing the way. [/I] Then you think you see a flash of color in her eyes and hear the faint sound of a strong discordant string note… [I]You may have won this contest, but you can’t win. I’m in your mind. A little voice that is going to eat away at you until this …. whole … world …. comes crashing down. [/I]She shakes her head, as if coming out of a trance. But you know already. The Color has found you. The Color is in the memory machine. It all makes sense now. The days have been growing shorter. The deaths of your friends all around you. The hate that seems to keep increasing. You rush to tell your friends, and you all realize that none of you has seen the door to another memory in the two years that you have been here. And then the next day, the sun barely rises. Panic sets in, as people rush around, turning to god or science for an explanation, not realizing that they are just echoes of a memory. But you know what is happening. The Color is coming for you. The Color is coming for this world. And the Color can inhabit these memory shadows. The cops. The angry yuppies. Your landlord. And as the Color gets more powerful, the very memoryscape itself starts to break down. Each day getting shorter? That’s just your perception of the memory itself being erased while you are in it. You sit down with the others and do some quick calculations. You have maybe eight days, maybe a fortnight, before the darkness is total. The City itself is on the verge of collapse. The streets are dangerous. But your community is holding fast, and even holding a masquerade ball tonight at the Center on 13th Street. Can you turn back the Color? Can you find a door? Can you bring back the light? [B][I]Areas of Note[/I][/B] Ballroom, Houses (of Xtravaganza, etc.), Washington Square, 6th Precinct Station House, Christopher Street Pier, St. Vincent’s Hospital [B][I]Goal[/I][/B] Find a way out. [I]Live. Survive. Pose.[/I] [/SPOILER] [/QUOTE]
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