Hmm Lots of boths, and about even on everything else. Lets expand a bit.
You died. At some point, somewhere. And now you're here. Here is a bit complicated; those nice compact heavens and hells of the meat realm have no bearing here. Some say that every god, hell, heaven, demon, and realm of deathly habitation dreamed of by man, beast, alien, or office furniture has ended up here; an endless plane of questionable morality and painful geography. Others say that this chaos is the corpse of god, rotting down into infinite, mindless creation. But most simply ignore these questions and live an undying life of repeated incarnations as they see fit, living, dying and returning elsewhere as something different. You're recently incarnated yourself, maybe it's the first time and you've just recently died in the old meat realm of mortals or maybe its your 10,000th time. In any case, you've appeared in an upstairs single suite at the Motel 9 somewhere along the road in the 88,888,888th hell. It's a desert with tiny eyeballs instead of grains of sand, with a burning, eyeless baby vomiting burning pitch onto the distant horizon instead of a sun. As far as hells go, it's not bad. The pay-per-view in the room is lousy though, nothing but X-rated nature shows. At some point last night you wandered into the motel lobby and, amongst many many MANY beers, made a pact with 4 other motel patrons. A pact of the grandest significance imaginable. In this world of endless heavens, there must be a first. The First God and the First Heaven. And you, and your very drunk compatriots, have made a solemn vow to find this god and his heaven. Or at least to get the fuck out of this shitty ass hell. And thats about all you remember, aside from peeing on a potted plant.
You woke up this morning, laying on the floor in the lobby. The Manager- an amiable giant praying mantis- is dead, slumped over the front desk with his head missing. Outside is his jeep. Your companions are starting to stir and awaken. There is only one thing to do:
Roadtrip.
OR
"Something's gone wrong"
That phrase echos in your head. You hear it in the hum of the AC and the buzz of the TV. You see the disconnected mouth that spoke the words; the coffee stained teeth and panicked eyes. You remember that -everyone remembers that- but it isn't your memory. You've only got a precious few memories left; at least ones you know, for sure, are your own. You had to trade a lot of them to get here, this apartment you share with 4 other people. This apartment with the metal door and the 5 locks and the chair wedged under the handle. This apartment with a hole in the wall near the tv, where a stray bullet tore in while they were murdering your neighbor. An apartment that overlooks the flowing river of tar that used to be a street, where the merchants push square boats constructed out of the torn off roofs of suburbanite houses, selling wears and making transactions to apartment windows with long poles. The apartment that used to have a stock of food that seemed infinite, but now is gone. The apartment where the rent is coming due, and the landlord scrapes at your door every morning while humming hymns, and wiggling his butcher knife under the door in a blind, profane way.
"Something's gone wrong"
You remember that the world wasn't always like this. You don't remember what happened, or why, but you know it did happen. And now the minds of men are like jigsaw puzzles assembled out of dozens of unrelated pieces, all barely held together, and prone to falling apart. And the world doesn't make sense anymore; dreams and delusions have weight and memories leak like blood from the dead, and are squeezed from the heads of the living. And things that should not be, stalk the world with distressing regularity.
You need to get out of here. You and these people you rented this place with; you've got to get out of here. Before starvation comes. Before the Land lord cuts his way in. Before the ones that killed your neighbor come back. You've got to get more memories. Make yourself anew with the knowledge and skills of the dead. And try not to lose yourself to the same madness that consumes the rest.
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Topic: Einsteinian Roulette: OOC and NEW PLAYER INFO (Read 2544206 times)