graveyardsmash | TDM: JANUARY/FEBRUARY

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test drive

TDM: JANUARY/FEBRUARY

TDM: JANUARY/FEBRUARY

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

You've stumbled your way out of the graveyard, and you're promptly besieged by the overwhelming sights and sounds of the city. Cars honk at you to get out of the street, and strangers try not to look in your direction for too long. They see your dirty clothes and scraped faces, and pretend to busy themselves with something else. Rarely, a look of pity is cast your way.

But some people try to reach out. Enterprising citizens and those that hope to curry favor with the newcomers pass out new clothes and bundles of food, asking if you have a place to stay the night, wondering about the details of the world you came from. Some are even handing out pamphlets which vary in how helpful they are--"What To Expect When You're Expecting (To Turn Into A Monster)", "Wolpertinger: Fact or Fiction?", "100% ACCURATE MONSTER QUIZ ASSESSMENT: GUARANTEED TO PREDICT YOUR MONSTER!", and "Ryslig Law In A Nutshell".

Then there are the people who aren't happy to see you at all. Glares and silent, judging stares if you're lucky, torches and pitchforks attempting to drive you out of the town if you're not. You may need a friend to help you.

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.

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Oh, but you can... The instinct is within us all.

Many do find the thought unpleasant... But you must try to understand that it is nothing wrong. It is simply a part of our nature... Surely you don't find it unethical for any other carnivore to hunt and kill its prey, do you?

1: gonna end up a big ol' pile of them bones

[Norman uncovers his face and looks up to realize that he's not where he was. It's dark. It's damp. It smells like dirt, in a way he hasn't smelled dirt since - since ... his mother's funeral. His breath hitches in his throat and his eyes adjust to the dying light just as he makes the connection, fingers grasping at the edges of the open coffin he's sitting in.

It's not the sort of thing he would have picked for himself, either: it's a rotting, simple pine husk covered in knots and gnarled worm holes. He remembers what he'd heard from the others, and gets to his feet with a yelp of terror. Is he back? Is that what this is? With trembling hands, he pats himself down, and feels only the ill-fitting clothes he'd worn beneath the armor. No massive wounds, no blood, no trauma, no -

- no voice telling him not to panic. Which, strangely enough, just makes it worse. Norman clambers up out of the grave, his voice high and strangled]

Hello?! Is - is anyone out here?

[on his hands and knees, he crawls to the next grave, this one closed and covered, the stone bearing a familiar name: Otto Octavius. the others surrounding his? Curtis Connors. Flint Marko. and another name he doesn't know, but can only guess belonged to the other man, the one with lightning in his eyes.]

... the sorcerer. He did it after all.

[Norman puts his back to Octavius' gravestone and wraps his arms around himself. He's never liked the cold, and now he's only got a hooded sweatshirt to stave it off]

2. alive in the superunknown

[It's the sorcerer's fault. He's convinced. Absolutely and totally convinced. After all, if string theory and all of that has been proven to be true and feasible - which it undoubtedly has - he's been shunted off to some other corner of reality where none of them will have to deal with him, and no way to get home.

At least, no way yet. Norman's determined to figure something out. He just needs to find a scientist or two, figure out which way is up. Unfortunately, this place seems very technologically underdeveloped, and his spirits sag with each corner he rounds, and each pamphlet pressed into his hands. At least it's a little easier to think rationally, here: the Goblin's voice hasn't piped up once, and that seems odd. He finds a bench to sit on, out of the wind, and starts to look at the pamphlets. They all look like the weird black-and-white tracts that religious nutjobs used to hand out in New York, and even more ludicrous at a closer glance. Norman decides they'd be better served as fire-starters, and stuffs them into the pocket of his jacket]

Garbage. Absolute garbage.

[thankfully, the sight of the monstrous doesn't completely startle him after meeting the likes of Connors, Marko, and ... Max? Had that been the other man's name? Either way. he has enough courage and presence of mind to call out to the next monster - partial or full - who walks within earshot, holding up a hand as politely as he can, given the circumstances]

Ah, excuse me? Excuse me. I'm sorry to bother you, but - d'you have a moment?

3. through these carousels and carnival arcades

[when there's finally a voice in his head, it almost sends him into a panic attack. or, it might if it sounded anything like the Goblin ... which he realizes that somehow, it doesn't. Norman follows it, anyway, through the nearest door, and the sight that greets him is so whimsical and familiar that he actually laughs a little in relief.

lights, wires, screens, sounds. technology. even if it's the stuff of children's pizza parties with a few strange little robots mixed in, it feels like some twisted facet of home. Norman moves through it all slowly, with open wonder and curiosity on his face, a smile full of crooked, bright teeth steadily growing. occasionally he'll reach out and touch something. play a round of some side-scroller, albeit horribly, bowled over by a wave of heartsickness as he remembers watching Harry play them as a child. when he comes close to the red curtains at the back of the room, he'll pause and rub the fabric between his fingers]

Anyone back here that I'm not supposed to pay any attention to?

[he almost wonders if he'll find Strange when he pulls them back. the Wonderful Wizard of Manhattan.]

Edited 2022-01-18 04:21 (UTC)

I'm not sure, either.

[Norman looks up from the machine he was inspecting.]

But if you don't know what it is, you probably found your way here the same way I did, didn't you?

[he offers a warm smile and holds out his hand]

Norman Osborn. Pleasure to meet you, young man.

[Norman looks up from his own mass of tangled thoughts when he hears the commotion from a few rows down. he looks around, then picks up a sizeable rock from the rubble of his upturned grave and lobs it in the gravedigger's direction. unfortunately, without the benefit of the Goblin serum, his throw is neither as strong or as true as he expected it to be, and the stone clatters uselessly off a grave a few feet away from the scuffle.

hopefully, it's still enough to get the gravekeeper's attention away from the tall, skinny man struggling with him. Norman tries to catch his eye in what scant window they have before he's noticed by the gravekeeper, too.]

[Norman's looking at a few pamphlets of his own, reading and keeping the street in his peripheral vision like a hobo Belle when he hears the other man muttering to himself.]

Won't what?

[he asks it with a calm, steady curiosity, even as his brain unhelpfully plays a few strains of MeatLoaf back to him from some ancient nostalgia recess. Do anything for love, but not that? don't be an idiot, Osborn. sometimes his self-hatred and/or the ghost of his father sub in for the Goblin quite nicely.]

Edited 2022-01-17 22:34 (UTC)

[Aether. He knows the word, but it does not fit where it is used; another mystery, to be investigated, he supposes, another time. They could stand here otherwise forever and a day, while he interrogates every strange thing this man says - but what sense would there be in it?]

[He follows Hythlodaeus' gaze, nodding grimly, and starts towards the distant light.]

Yet at least we might come to know what manner of creature has brought us here. From a distance, perhaps, if we are quiet in our approach.

Do all creatures have aether, or only those that walk in the light? [That, at least, seems like an immediately relevant question.]

[He fixes her with a long look, and then reaches up to unclasp his cloak.]

I am dressed for battle; you, for a summer's stroll. And I have lived in the wilds long enough to be prepared for the cold.

Take it, I beg, if only for my sake; for I am ashamed enough that I did not offer sooner, and I would fain think myself a better man than to let you struggle needlessly against the chill.

[And he does have a point: although his armour is light, and more consisting of leather than metal, what he is wearing under his cloak is much more waterproof than her clothes.]

[He holds the woollen cloak out to her, careful not to expose the drier side of the cloth to the rain.]

What is a church?

[Another name he has never heard; another sense of the world shifting beneath his feet. Or perhaps that is only the mud, which is less than steady beneath his boots.]

[He sighs, and is silent for a moment, his brow furrowed, considering what best to say.]

It is strange to think of, that you do not know it; for since its founding, Gondor was ever said to be the greatest of the kingdoms of Men, not in might alone but in size likewise; and in truth, I have rarely had cause to think that it might not be everywhere known.

It lies to the south-east of Ennor, which in the common tongue men call Middle-Earth. To the south is desert and the western Sea; to the north the marshes and the plains; and eastward lies the Shadow - of which we will not speak, I think, in so dark and fell a place as this. And much and more I could say of its geography, to try and place it in your mind; yet I think it would be a false errand, for since my youth I have made study of maps and lore, and never in all that time have I heard of Japan. Your home must lie further from Gondor's shores than I knew was possible.

[Faramir starts and looks up, having almost forgotten - to his mild embarrassment - that he is not alone. It is a moment before he can summon together an answer; clearing his throat, he holds out the top pamphlet, the one about What to Expect...]

Be mastered by this place. I will not change.

[ She's in the middle of debating whether she should take the shovel - it's stealing, but if he's attacking people with it then he should be disarmed - the ultimate moral quandary. But then he starts talking in a rapid fire and she hangs on every word.

A sound? What sound? Is there another keeper to worry about? She takes it seriously at first, eyes closed and arms crossed, emptying herself of all things. The wind sings through leaves; white noise of drizzling rain so light it's imperceptible; nature existing in all its glory. No loud noises of infrastructure or people speaking. It's actually rather peaceful. Though she prefers cicadas over-

Ignore the narration up there, because now is where Spike gets a look like he might crazy. ]

Do you mean the crickets?

One
[The first thing that strikes him as odd is the smell of dirt, yeah sure he was pretty sure he had fallen face-first into the dirt where he "died" but this was different. It wasn't the same humid scent of the jungle, which made Blues open his eyes and take in that hey he's in some kind of a hole.

So first things first, he's getting himself out of that hole, trying to ignore the throbbing in his head (Which he really shouldn't have) and once he's out he'll have a look around. He totally takes note of the gravestone with his own name on it, and maybe he notices ones with familiar names on them nearby but for now? He's more focused on figuring out where he is first.]

Most certainly not where I was before.

[Mostly said to himself, but hey maybe someone nearby will also hear him talk to himself.]

Two
[He had been here before, the memories from his brief stint here in the peninsula are coming back once he's made his way back into the city proper. And they earn a little frown from him, more so once he's being bombarded with pamphlets and people being nice to him.]

I already... No thanks...

[He just wants to be alone and is trying his best to try and get away from the crowd and maybe into an alleyway? Yeah an alley looks like a nice place to be right now.]

Four - Minotaur
[The changes were something that Blues was aware of, he had gone through them before. Thankfully, or not so thankfully, his legs had changed first. So he was able to deal with that alone, but now it was the changes with horns and ears that hit him while he was out. So he can be found clutching at his head on the street, trying to stay out of the way, with blood trickling from his forehead at where the horns were making their appearance.]

Dammit.

[He's just going to stumble around, and maybe he runs into someone unsavoury that a mumbled "sorry" doesn't cover the slight he's done to them. As he can now be found trying to calm down an angry local all while still keeping a hand on his forehead and trying to hide the blood on his face.]

Edited 2022-01-18 00:19 (UTC)

[Norman nods thoughtfully, holding up the pamphlet he was reading, himself]

Given what I've seen so far, I'm not keen on the concept either. But in order to resist it, we have to find out how it starts, and ... conveniently - [the sassiest raise of his eyebrows] - none of these little tracts say anything about that. Outside of something about fog, which ... is maddeningly vague.

[he holds out a hand in greeting, nonetheless. two men with a common problem to solve ought to know each other's names]

Norman Osborn.

[He looks at the outstretched hand in momentary confusion - he knows what a handshake is, of course, but it is hardly his first thought in an introduction - before taking it in his own, essaying something that is part handshake and part shallow bow.]

Faramir. Well met, Master Osborn.

I fear that the start is behind us. That all we may do, if these tracts are truthful, is to try to keep our minds and souls intact.

[The amount of profanity this young slime is dropping is enough to distract Hythlodaeus from the rest of what Beat says sometimes. It's not that he's unaccustomed to cursing here and there, especially with Emet-Selch as a friend, but such words were usually reserved for moments of anger.]

Coins? The god provides you with an allowance to then use as bargaining pieces? Ha! What a patronizing little game.

[Laughing a little, he picks at more of his food.]

Have you a reason for going by yourself? Surely a band of like-minded souls with a pool of coins would curry more of this Mana's favor, no?

[Following Faramir's lead, Hythodaeus, too, walks with soft steps. He much prefers to resolve things without combat, so a stealthy approach is more than fine with him. As Faramir had said before, it's not like they had much choice, being unarmed. Tracking something without being able to follow its aether was an annoyance, and to think that this is how everyone else must see things gives him much more perspective than he had mere minutes ago.]

As far as our studies have concluded, aether is the material by which all things are woven. Especially so in beings gifted with life.

[He speaks in a hushed tone the closer they draw to the darkened figure. He tries to stand at Faramir's side, but sort of ends up inching behind him a bit. Honestly, he isn't the hero in anyone's tale. He is not one to leave a comrade behind, but he is equally not the type to jump into combat.]

As to the latter part of your question, I can't say I know of any alternative. "Creatures who walk in darkness" would be the obvious conclusion, but I cannot make sense of such a term.

Then you have been blessed with more peace than Gondor has known in my lifetime.

[He says it in a voice both low and dark, and then says no more; his eyes are fixed on the dim figure beyond, except when they dart downward to the muddy ground where he walks. His hand has gone to his hip, though his sword is gone; it is instinct, after so long guarding the marches of Gondor, to be ready for the fight that, even so, he hopes will not come.]

[He is ready enough to walk ahead a little; indeed, much as Hythlodaeus instinctively falls back, so Faramir has instinctively brought himself to the van, shifting ahead as though to place himself between his new companion and whatever may come.]

[When they are within sight of the gravedigger, close enough to hear the clink of keys and the wet squelch of his feet in the mud, Faramir slows to a stop, then drops to a crouch behind the cover of one of the larger gravestones, gesturing for Hythlodaeus to join him.]

[In an undertone:] He is but a Man, I think, and alone. One of us might approach to speak with him. Will you wait here, lest it should come to blows?

[Well at least he knows what patronizing means, and it gets a snort of agreement out of him.]

It def feel like a game sometimes. Ain't met a God yet who don' like gamin' it up. Wish they'd leave us alone though an' jus' play wid each other, yo.

[The suggestion makes him pause and his eyes go a little unfocused as he stares off into the void. When he responds his voice is soft.]

Oh... yo, di'nt even thinka that. Gonna have to ask 'bout it on the network. I got somethin' like fifty of them so far, if I can find others wid similar amounts, maybe we can pile it all together for a big door out...

[Absolutely knowing he won't remember any of this, Beat shifts around to reach into his goo again and take out a small post it notepad and a pencil. He will scribble the idea aggressively down, then tuck them back in against his hip. Or where his hip should be.]

Thanks! Bet no one else thoughta it either!

[He digs around in a box where he'd put all the things random townspeople had pressed into his hands--food, bundled clothes, a wealth of leaflets and periodicals. He mutters to himself as he searches.]

Maybe I should see if someone else wants this... no, that's not what I was looking for, either... heh--So You're Going To Become A Monster. Well, that's kinda on the nose... seafoam green?... ah-hah!

[He triumphantly comes up with a paper-wrapped bundle that turns out to be bread and cheese.]

Nothing like a little scrounged-up food to make a hole in the wall feel like home, huh? [Just a... little joke. Aheh.]

[ The more he talks, the more recognizes how his speech is... strange. Not a bad strange. It's reminiscent of her grandmother; that old method of cadence that she was never quite good enough to master, never had the presence to be anything more than a child playing chivalry. It's nice. Anyone else from home would probably mock him for it, but it's Nice and it's a nice indulgence.

For a bit. There's too many places her mind wishes to wander and Wakaba will be having none of it. This has to be grappled with. A kingdom in Ennor. Which means, even if she doesn't know Gondor, she should know that one. A continent, or at least a country large enough to have a kingdom within its borders. Nothing. Each word after makes the weight worse - a place so large as to contain deserts, seas, marshes; an ominous Shadow that might also be a place?. And for someone who studies maps to not see Japan on it is...

Is what. That was the shortest explanation of his home. And yet there is no mention of the sun's betrayal. Humanity lives on, somewhere, with no Vertex to end them. It's heartening in ways she would never be able to say, but her steps slow. The incongruency between it all is too much. ]

It sounds... like a different world. [ And all she sounds is lost, but with a rising denial that has no spine to it. ] ...Surely that's not possible. I assume you know of places other than Ennor, even if just from your studies. Do you know the Eurasian supercontinent?

[That lost tone plucks something in his heart; a kinship between the lost, perhaps, or perhaps it is simple pity for a young girl far from home. In any case, he cannot help but feel for her, in her uncertainty and her denial.]

[And so it grieves him that he must cast his mind back to old maps and to the long walks that once he took with Mithrandir, those talks of the world that was and is; and find no answer there; and shake his head.]

Not by such a name. There is Ennor, and the South Land, and the Sun-Lands, and those are all the known continents of Arda; and to those who can travel the Straight Road beyond the world, there lie Aman and Tol Eressëa; but of Eurasia I have heard nothing at all.

[He falls silent a moment, but it is not a silence that invites filling; there is a distant look in his eyes, and thought creases his brow. When he does speak, it is slow, as though he is still deeply entangled in his thoughts.]

But it is said that when the world was sung into being, it was not alone in the Void; and from the Flame Imperishable there may spring other worlds besides. Is it possible...

[He trails off. It does not seem possible - but then, nor does it seem possible that there is some whole other continent which even the Wise have never heard tell of or given a name to, which not even in the most ancient texts of the Elves is mentioned. The most realistic possibility is that they are simply struggling with a problem of language: that Eurasia is another name for one of the known continents of the world. And yet...]

[And yet, it does not feel that way; and he is a man, in general, given to trusting such leadings of the heart.]

[Ah... yep, there was suddenly no doubt in his mind that it must have been Souda. Something clearly must have happened, but, even for how... weird, he looked, it was clearly him.]

I wouldn't really know if I was a copy, would I...? [Haha. Hah. Right. That was probably in poor taste, but he grins awkwardly anyway, before returning to seriousness. Ahem.]

I'm pretty sure... I'm still me. The real question is... what happened to you?

[Before she can take the bread and cheese, she sees the "So You're Going To Become A Monster" pamphlet that gets kind of tossed aside.]

Wait... is this real?

[She reaches to pick it up.]

Is this why I was called a "monster" earlier?

[Komaeda seems as carefree as ever (well, whatever passes as carefree for him--), but Hinata doesn't miss the way he seems surprised. Maybe it's Izuru's ability to watch, and know people in an instant, or maybe Komaeda's actually off his footing?

He takes a moment to think about it, bringing one hand up in front of his chin thoughtfully.] ...I was on Jabberwock Island, working on... uh...

[Wait. Does Komaeda know about the simulation? It wouldn't have surprised him, if he'd discovered who they were, but... suddenly he seems far more unsure of himself, and self-conscious of the red that had taken over the color of his left eye. Maybe it's good that it's hard to see in the darkness.] Hold on... what do you remember?

[He pulls the bread and cheese apart, offering one half of each to Mirabel.]

Uh... yeah. 'Fraid so.

[He grows serious.]Turns out people who come here end up... changing. It starts small, like growing scales or fur. Soon enough, though, you turn into something... something else. Nobody can say how long that takes, either, or when it starts. But it happens to everyone.

[Then he shrugs casually.] Or so everything says. Including that.

[Sure enough, the pamphlet outlines pretty much the same thing, with splashy layouts of bright text and some rather... graphic pictures. Ouch.]

[Ah, no good.

At one point, Komaeda would have viewed the fabricated talents of Izuru Kamukura as a shining beacon of hope—but right now, it feels more like a thorn in his side. An outplay, like the jam on a Colt 1911. This time, his emotions don't reach the smile plastered across his face. This time, he's much more careful as he chooses his words.]

Hm... I remember a really elaborate dream, one that felt so real, I wouldn't have known it was a dream.

[It isn't a lie, not completely. When he first arrived in Ryslig, it was like waking up from his gruesome death in the warehouse. When he went to sleep one night a few months later, he suddenly remembered everything he should have known between his point-in-time and Souda's.

His head tilts, ever so slightly, with his one-hand and his stump-arm tucked neatly into his pockets.]

But now we're both here! I wonder if I'm still dreaming or not... Which is why I asked you what you remembered last. After all, this isn't the first time we've woken up in a strange place, right, Hinata-kun?

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Page 11 of 32

TDM: JANUARY/FEBRUARY

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Norman Osborn | Spider-Man NWH (will avoid spoilers unless you're OK with them)

III

I - please lmk if No Way Home spoilers are ok

denial for 500, Alex

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Blues/Proto Man || Archie's Mega Man

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