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graveyardsmash2021-09-10 09:23 am
ryslighelpers) wrote in graveyardsmash2021-09-10 09:23 am
Entry tags:
TDM: SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER
Welcome to the Ryslig Test Drive Meme! Below are a few prompts to get you started, but you may make up any prompt you desire! Please take a look at the navigation page for rules, setting information, and links to reserves and apps. Have fun!
SCENARIO ONE
You wake up in a dark ditch, the sky cloudy overhead. Dirt cakes into your cuts and scrapes. The air is clammy and damp, and it smells like rain.
You’re in a grave. And when you sit up to inspect the tombstone marking your spot, it has your name on it. Maybe the graves next to you have the names of familiar friends, family, acquaintances. Not all of them are open like yours are. RIP.
There’s a light dancing in the distance, and you hear the jingle-jangle of heavy keys, or worse still, the gravekeeper’s massive pitchfork or shovel. If you're lucky, you can sneak out beyond his notice, and get out alone. If not - you might find yourself on the wrong end of a shovel’s swing, or worse yet, tripping headfirst in front of a pair of monstrous eyes.
SCENARIO TWO
So you've just arrived, and you’re surrounded by an incredibly odd group of natives. Some of them wear elaborate headdresses that resemble a deer, or a horse with seaweed instead of a mane, or a ferocious cat. All of them are covered in tattoos and piercings, and their clothing mirrors their ‘beast’ of choice, from snakeskin boots for the snake-people to cowhide and leathers for the minotaurs, manticore-kin, or kelpie-kin. These people introduce themselves as members of the scouting team for the Tågevalgten, and they’re here to help you settle in! They load you onto a rickety old bus and take you into Town.
The Town is called Rota, according to the rusted road-sign. And the central lodge is all decked out and ready to go for a reception, Children of the Fog welcome. There are food and drink aplenty, mostly meat-heavy, and if you ask them where the meat came from… Well! Maybe you shouldn’t ask.
The Tågevalgten gladly share helpful pamphlets for you. “Embrace Your Fog-Given Gifts,” they proclaim. Most of them are fashioned to sound like self-help with a religious bent favoring a divine entity called the Fog God: “Monster Types And YOU: What Fits Your Personality? Take Our 99% Accurate Quiz Inside!”, “Shed Your Human Skin And Thrive,” “Be Uniquely You And Uniquely Free,” “What to Expect When You're Expecting (to turn into a monster).” There's even some thick books carefully cataloguing certain monsters and the changes they might go through. Some of these seem to have been passed down from one monster to the next.
After awhile, it’s clear that the Tågevalgten are a bit too friendly and enthralled with buttering you up. In fact, it’s clear that they don’t want you to leave their fold, happy to keep you strapped together with a kumbaya around the campfire. They might not let you go until you take a bite of their Soylent Green or accept a group hunting trip with other newbies, and so on and so on. There’s always some excuse.
Maybe someone else can help you out of these uncomfortable pickles and get you away from here.
SCENARIO THREE
"Seek us out," the voice whispers in your head, and before you have time to question it you've found yourself in someplace entirely alien.
Maybe it's the Fog God's ghostly town of Dyster, where exultant followers dance around bonfires and sing their praises to the skies above. Maybe it's the Fourth God's arcade, with small robots wheeling about amidst the lights and colors of old pinball machines.
Only one thing is certain: you are not alone, in this sacred place.
SCENARIO FOUR
The time has come and you've found yourself becoming a monster. Is the change instant, or gradual? Are you familiar enough with monsters to know what's happening, or is it a complete shock? Does it fit you, or does it feel incongruous with your nature? Feel free to pick any monster type for this prompt, but note that you may not get the same one in game.
2
The point is he's a cat dressed in a dapper little gray hoodie vest, wrinkling his nose at most of the cultists, and even baring a tooth or two when he sees the pamphlets.]
Eugh. As if the Vandaran variations weren't hard enough to stamp out, someone gave these people a printer.
[Whyyyyyyyyyy...] Do you want some real information? Or do you want what they think is information? Because unfortunately for you, they believe what they're spouting.
no subject
forgive him; he has seen many weird things, been on many bizarre adventures, even, but he's never seen a talking fucking cat, and it's so absurd that he almost laughs. Almost. He's got to be losing his damn mind. If it weren't for the unusual circumstances surrounding it, he'd think he was having some kind of vivid hallucination before death. Should he even respond?
Of course, all this translates to nothing more than a brief few moments of stony-faced staring from Bucciarati that eventually resolves in a delayed, but perfectly neutral, response. He's a hard one to read... ]
And I should believe what you're spouting instead?
[ it's a bit of a tall order. Would it be stupider to listen to a bunch of cultists in eerie masks, or a literal talking cat with a little shirt on? These are not the kinds of questions the mafia prepared him to answer. ]
no subject
Noa is nothing if not patient, and far from judgemental as well. He's very much used to people refusing any advice and help of his- it's a sudden change in location, full of suspicious sorts, and frankly even muting his own appearance down to a mere housecat isn't going to change that.
If the shoe was on the other foot, he would perhaps trust even less than this one seems to.
Still- one has to try, after all.] Because about six years prior, I was figuratively standing where you are now. ...Of course my arrival was on a frigid mountain, and there were....decidedly less cultists at the time, [he mutters, flicking his tail as his eyes drift to a few of them,] But all the same.
As an aside, I don't recommend eating what they're serving- you'll possibly end up sick, the meals aren't especially made for...human consumption, [Noa warns, wrinkling his nose in disgust.] ...Noa Kaiba, by the way. If you're getting anything from this, you should at least have a name.
[Better than leaving with nothing, if the Italian so chooses to play it even more safely after all.]
no subject
[ six years ago, he was a fourteen-year-old kid doing his best to thrive in a world of crime he was only just beginning to understand. It feels like an eternity ago, and the concept of spending an equivalent amount of time here is unimaginable. He can't even consider that possibility right now. With a faint shake of his head, he moves on. ]
You'll forgive me if I'm not in the mood for introductions. [ he knows he's being rude but also, he doesn't care. he's stressed! ] Standing where I am now - you mean that you just appeared here, as well? Is it the same for them?
[ "them" being said cultists. If everyone here is an import of several years, their going stir crazy makes a lot more sense. ]
no subject
[...Hm. He considers the best way to describe it, pausing with a frown.] ...Fanatic, I would say. Anyone who is human and remains human however, was absolutely from here.
[The implications are perhaps clear, there. The cat before him was a person once upon a time- and Bucciarati himself, supposedly, will not be human for long either.]
no subject
In other words, what they're saying is true.
[ so much for spouting nonsense. So people are turning into monsters. Or... cats, at least. ]
no subject
[A pause, and he wrinkles his nose.] I think they still consider the 'fur bearing trout' a viable end... [Disgusting. He hates it.]
Regardless- you have a month before you have to worry about that. Just the right amount of time to find your bearings- and allies, where possible.
no subject
How do you stop that from happening?
[ There probably isn't any way that they know about, or they would have done it, provided this isn't a giant lie. He's had enough of his body undergoing unpleasant supernatural changes for the rest of his life, though, and he has to at least try. ]
no subject
You don't.
You aren't the first to ask, and I'm sure you won't be the last- about leaving, about putting off changes, and so on so forth. It's been six years; I've seen people look for cures and escapes that entire time, and been part of the projects.
Nothing will stop this from happening, at the least. Maybe it'll be able to be reversed, [he admits, shrugging.] ...But at the very least, that won't be happening within a month's time.
no subject
[ he'd be remiss not to ask. It's still hard to actually believe, despite what he's seen. He suspects it will only start sounding like reality when it starts happening to him. Not terribly comforting. ]
Do you at least know why it happens?
no subject
...It's from that one, that a deity here pulls at random- those who are pulled are given what she considers gifts. Without any argument, [he adds wryly.] If you can imagine what a 'god' believing themselves 'correct' yet 'loving' would do, you can see why arguments fall flat. As far as she's concerned, turning her chosen 'children' into monsters is a blessing that they'll come to enjoy in time.
[And to be fair, he does enjoy being a cat.]
no subject
... For protection? I've heard this place is dangerous.
[ and, while he's not going to say it aloud, he's had his other abilities stripped away from him. Perhaps the transformation is a misguided attempt to protect them. ]
no subject
Sorry Bruno- the monsters are half the danger.]