TDM: SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER

[ryslighelpers]

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.

Comments

[digiorno]

[Does Giorno believe Abbacchio will refuse to go with him? For sure. Does he believe Abbacchio would do so irrationally, out of spite? Honestly, yeah, that too. His automatic assumption is that the second he can manage it, Abbacchio will get as far away from him as he can manage. The fact that that hasn't already happened feels like a minor miracle.]

[There's too much going on in him emotionally for him to be entirely logical in this moment, too much even to recognize that he's operating at a different capacity than usual. It would be different if it was anyone else, someone he could trust to trust him, someone he could persuade—]

[But the truth works. Somehow, inexplicably, it works. His whole body relaxes, as though he's been on strings this whole time and they've just been cut. Hard to see as he is in the darkness, his silhouette visibly slackens.]

[He probably won't get to tell Abbacchio about the cultists. He wishes he could. Someone else will, and he hopes it's appropriately vitriolic when they do. For the moment, he just ducks his head — yes, he's serious; yes, he knows his way around; yes, he'll drive, he really doesn't care — and sets off through the trees, glancing over his shoulder as he goes to ensure Abbacchio is following.]

[And now, in the silent moments that follow, he has to think about . . . all of this. What this means. Whether it's a good thing, or bad, or just a thing, neither one nor the other. If it were Narancia or Bruno, it would be different. He would know unequivocally that it's better for them to be alive and here than nowhere. But he doesn't know Abbacchio, not really. He knows a few things about him, but not many, and he doesn't know which of those are true. He knows Abbacchio would rather be anywhere but here with him, and he knows that if it weren't for him Abbacchio would be alive, really alive, back in Napoli and safe. Or safe enough.]

[He knows that the last time he saw Abbacchio, the man was a corpse in makeup too warmly toned, and the time before that he was bled out on a rock, and before that . . . there aren't that many memories before that. The ones he has are strong and stark, vivid and painfully complex. He can't look at them.]

[Instead he looks over his shoulder again at the man behind him, still following. His vines squirm anxiously, wrapping tight around his shoulders, like Gold Experience's arms did once upon a time.]

We're not far. If you see anything in the woods, please point it out. Especially if you see eyeshine.

[Oh, wow, what a reassuring single thing you have chosen to say there, Giorno. Amazing.]

[riproduzione]

[ Winding up in the woods and relying on Giorno Giovanna probably isn't karma trying to balance itself out, but it certainly feels that way as he forces his feet to move and follow behind him. He seems different – not just his appearance, that much is obvious; but there's an air about him that he doesn't quite recall and Abbacchio wonders just what could have happened that has had such an impact on him.

But… It's not as if he'd know though, is it? Not really. He never even gave Giovanna a chance. Maybe he might've if things were different, if he'd had more time; but he can't exactly change the past can he? All he can do is idly let his mind linger on it for far too long to be considered healthy.

So he chooses not to think about that. Keeps his mind far away from that week and begrudgingly follows behind Giorno, maintaining his distance. It's weird and uncomfortable in the most frustrating way and he doesn't know if he's supposed to say something, anything, or if he should just keep his mouth shut and continue shuffling along quietly. God, he wishes he at least had music. Getting mauled in the woods by a bear or something because he's oblivious to outside noise seems like a minor concession in comparison to whatever this awkward strained silence is.

It's then that Giorno turns back to him, his silhouette shifting in a way that Abbacchio can't begin to fathom how to describe. He looks perturbed, tells him to point out anything he may see in the woods surrounding them, and the thought of actually getting mauled suddenly becomes a grim possibility. He picks up his pace at that, not wanting to fall too far behind and ducks his head in a belated nod of acknowledgment.

They continue on in silence, Abbacchio's eyes darting from side-to-side, the only real noise between them their feet against the underbrush. Curiosity gets the better of him though and he clears his throat, keeping his voice down as he speaks, (can't draw the attention of that bear after all.) ]

Where are we, anyway? What exactly is this place?

[ He bites his tongue. He wants to know why or how Giorno is here; wants to know if anyone else is here. That line of questioning would open up the possibility of getting an answer that he doesn't want to hear though, and he's too drained to have to deal with that on top of everything else right now. ]