Thread: A special kind of relay story

You may be used to traditional relay stories, in which the writers usually take turns as narrators, or role-playing games, in which they take turns as characters. This story will merge elements of both - one writer (me) will narrate the context of a single character, while all others will role-play that character's daimons (consciences). These daimons may influence the character, possess him when they become powerful enough and interact with each other, but never perform any physical action... They're spirits, after all. The story will endure a war of ideologies, whose combatants wish simply to impose themselves upon a living creature's mind, applying whatever tactics suit their personality. For instance, a truly rational daimon would try to impose its beliefs by way of arguments whenever possible. Every writer who chooses to take part in this should invent a personality for his daimon, even if that personality happens to be his own.

Each daimon may address the character through all his inner senses, and it's very likely that he'll answer, though he'll never be aware of what's giving the question... In fact, the daimons themselves don't realize a lot of things at first, but may learn this over time. What they start with is their personality, their knowledge that other daimons may exist, and their wish to guide the character. Ultimately, I decide what his (re)actions are - in a way, I behave like a game-master in a typical RPG.

The story belongs to one of the few original fantasy worlds in existence... A few fantasy stereotypes (like elves) have been thoroughly redefined, while the rest were scraped away to keep the universe coherent. You'll find that it contains religions, philosophies and cultures one could never find on earth, but which would plausibly exist in the right circumstances.

I'll start the story tomorrow... In the meantime, I'd like to know what people think of this idea.

hello man...id like to be part of this, and i think your idea is excellent.kinda reminds me of a book, but it wasnt exactly like this.anyway, is it possible to avoid the fantasy genre?Myself, im more of a Call of Cthulhu/WOD player, and i cant say i enjoy fantasy very much.I think a present time background would work better.But thats just a suggestion

Top idea! And a good challenge, will be interesting to see how this unfolds.

You're taking a lot of responsibility upon yourself with this one, I'd suggest to you keeping a running log of all the things each daimon may conjure and say to try and influence the writer with, to avoid discrepencies later on. You knew that already though, surely.

Time to create a personality.

Ah, excellent. To answer northerain's worries, I wouldn't want to change the setting at all... While I have a few campaign worlds I could pick from, I'm using this one to reinforce an IF I'm working on. There are a lot more sinister things in this world than evil gods (there are no gods at all, I should mention, but some immensely powerful and highly secretive organizations), though I'm not sure the character will ever be told of their presence. As a student in a political academy, he'll have that chance, but... This story focuses on his personal trials, and aims to be exciting even without any sort of plot.

Nifty, I'm not sure what you mean by "running log"... Shouldn't the story itself be enough? I assume everyone will write in prose, rather than just bringing up a list of things for his daimon to whisper.

I'll consider allowing others to play living characters, if anyone wants to do that. It would mean I'd have to turn into a GM, however. If any of you who already joined can't see a way to interact with the main character, I suggest you start with his emotions for now, or encourage them to think about some of things he mentioned - you're supposed to be fresh in his mind, without much knowledge of the local culture. Just know this: every name and title is pronounced as it is written, so try your best to suppress your english accents while you're reading them.


A graceful loom of light, held in the framework of a solitary window, unspun the tendrils of the dawn sun's tapestry before they sought the more impressive artwork of the hall. They landed only a few meters past the gritty outer walls, among the pots and other relics too mundane for thieves to scavenge, and could crawl no further in. The hostel's depths lingered beyond the sun's refreshing touch, as they had well stood for a century or more - in the small rooms that had withstood a thousand troubled pleas, nothing but the everlasting darkness of oblivion was let in.

And nothing was there... Draped in the common robes that clerks and vagabonds would favor. Alone to bear a surface free of dust, he might have called a careful eye, but his grey clothing and dark face expressed no more than his environment. He stood so close to the main door that the least thread of light divided them, yet his hands were reaching forward to contain a stretch of air. The swirling dust between them gave a powerful reminder, slipping from the rigid sunlight to the frail shadows of his fingers... These unbound and tiny specks had, like his hopes, abandoned the mute earth they were conceived in, and instead allowed themselves to float away, pulled off by the rainwater and careless winds. The glittering dust danced and mocked; he wished to stifle it, but his own hands were too weak to agree.

"You've still got enough teiars for a boat out..." Sent into the swirl, his breath dispersed the flakes of dust and allowed new ones in, while his words tumbled into darkness. Although he felt them reaching back into his own ears, oblivion had snatched them. "And," he bitterly concluded, "You would do well to spend it quickly. Miserable lackey..." His soft hands clapped into a tightly knotted fist, with fingers intertwined and thumbs embraced. Their painful meeting shed a single noise - one doused in anguish and delight, for it contained the silent scream of every bit of hope within him. Hearing the clap, he felt as though his very heart had shattered, and derived boundless comfort from this. Death would prove a wonderful companion for the time being, even if it were to simply hover on the porch of his mind.

I have submitted... To the worst disease that could fester in the minds of thoughtless men. Unravelled love, dishonor... Nothing could come close to this. I have submitted to the travesty that holds the fortress walls together, and in doing so, I have agreed to become part of the walls. Along a chain of moments counted only in the dust, he rinsed his heart with near-poetic thoughts, hoping that they could squeeze his last tear out of his parched, failing eyes. How could they allow this? Hane and Simerya, they knew... They knew he couldn't be exiled, at least. Simerya could've had more, even the name of his oppressor. She'd tell me if she thought it would do any good... For all the two-faced laughter and false love expected of those in her station, she never truly was a voyn-agdis, not with such a paltry record of dishonesty. Her least dreams may have ambled among those of her precursors, but her heart always cringed from them. I know this - Niparye himself told me, and a scroll noting all his arguments would've outstretched the circle of the Xaorim. I should free his ailing soul and run with him, if he allows it... But where would that take either of us? To Viszen? To the Barrier States? No land, no jewlled palace or religious hall, could be more pertinent in these unruly months than the Academy. If every plan slides into place, the greater effort will expose itself - a far more likely effort than the meager plans I once created. No, I won't interfere... Even if the seas themselves rise to devour me and *even* if the mash-gabel may have to die, I won't upset his choice. Maybe they allow this for the same reasons as I do, though fear and ignorace might stiffen their hands just as well... Perhaps, after my dreams were cut away with such contempt, I'll see the same knife cleave unwittingly through the great shroud of lies from which he sought to restrain me.

Graced with a stray slip of light, a corner of his wide lips smirked... It could do nothing more, having endured such refined tortures as to make sorrow trivial. He had, through the last hour, cursed and moaned so deeply that it left him inexplicably content. In gentle streams of two or three drops at a time, the dust returned over the soft engravings of his footsteps, while the dawn crept steadily towards his sandal-covered feet.

I've set my hopes away and broken my own destiny... Without the promise of a spectacle in ten days' time, I would have nothing. If Niparye does survive in the upheaval, or at least, if Hane succeeds... I might sip from their glory, but elsewhere... There is nothing worth appreciating. I have become an outcast of the citadel, left to keep the taverns noisy on the island's lower end, and a powerless young beggar to the eyes that never saw me as a student. The ships will start leaving port soon, back to the sunrise, and Limisfor was right... I have just enough teiars left to buy my safety. What he doesn't know is that the price of honor far exceeds what I can willingly afford, even for something as trivial as watching another man's success. I'll stay here, with the light and dust, until the screams and the applause will gather.

I would like to get involved in this but am a bit confused on the directions. Can someone please clear this up for me? Thanx