TDM: JANUARY/FEBRUARY

[ryslighelpers]

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.

Comments

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

[certaininequities]

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.]