graveyardsmash | 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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[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 archaic speech throws him for just a moment, but he shakes it off easily, tucking his hands back in the pockets of his shabby green coat]

That's a taller order for some people than others. [himself included, he fears. he fears that a GREAT deal.] I wonder if there's a - [he flounders, but finds no better phrase for it] - support group for people like you and I. Those who want to ... avoid as much of this mess as possible.

[Support group is not a familiar phrase to him, but its meaning is clear enough - and sensible enough, to think that such a fate may be best faced in alliance. He looks back down at the pamphlets, his brow furrowing.]

I do not know that it can be avoided. It seems more likely to me that we must fight.

[And he sounds, at the thought of it, profoundly weary.]

[that weariness is ... profoundly relatable. Norman winces.]

I'm not sure how much use I'd be at fighting in the most straightforward sense. I ... I used to be pretty good at defending myself, but I'm not as strong as I used to be.

[he'll go ahead and let Faramir assume it's because of his age, and not because of, well, Home Drama.]

If it's a matter of willpower, though ... that, I still have plenty of.

In mastering one's own mind, what could be more valuable?

[He does not sound, however, particularly optimistic. He sighs, and looks back down at the pamphlets for a long moment, before folding them and tucking them - for want of a better place - into his swordbelt.]

But I cannot say what will be demanded of us. There is much that I cannot say, and much and more that I do not understand. And I am sorry that it is so, for I would that I could offer some more solid strength than this.

Still, if it should come to a need for force of arms, then rest assured that I will stand with you where I may; for in that, at least, I know myself to have some skill.

[it's like watching Shakespeare on PBS to help Harry get through his English homework, Norman thinks, as he listens to Faramir. It still feels good, though, to have someone say they'll take his side. Odd, though: after a life of cutthroat business and professional one-upmanship, being trusted so quickly and easily is a surprise.

Norman narrows his eyes a little, wondering for a moment what Faramir could possibly have to gain from that offer. Then he realizes that the other man doesn't necessarily look at it in terms of gain. He may simply think it's important for people to hold on to their humanity, no matter how long they've known each other. It's touching, the sort of thing Peter would have said. Peter, or ... no, he's not going down that road right now. Instead, he huffs a soft breath of a laugh and pushes his hair back out of his face.]

Thank you. I know biochemistry - medicines, things that help heal or affect the body. Maybe once I learn a little more about how this all works ... I could come up with something to stave it off. If I've got your promise to help, you've got mine.

[Biochemistry. Another strange word; another reminder, even as it is explained, that he is an alien in this place - as though such a reminder could be needed, with everything around them. Faramir does his best to put aside the melancholy that thought brings, and to focus on the point in hand.]

Then we have our "support group", or at least the beginnings of it. [His smile is a little thin, and not at all happy; still, there is warmth in it. Alien or no, it is a relief not to be entirely alone.] Nor can we be wholly without allies; for it seems to me that in such a place, there are many people who would be best served by combatting this change.

Perhaps there is hope in that, even now.

I'd like to think there is, yeah. Science is, at its core, a thing about hope, you know. Looking for answers. New solutions.

[he's not sure how he lost sight of that, when he let survivalism and mistrust and desperation to hold on to control overtake his values. but now he's got all the time in the world to reflect, between whatever else is due to happen to him here. Norman nods a few times, clearly reminding himself as much as he's speaking to Faramir.]

I feel like we should find a bar. So I can buy you a drink, and we can raise them together. To hope.

[Science means something a little different to Faramir than it does to Norman - the images it brings to mind are of parchment and vellum rather than glassware and laboratories - but the thought behind what the older man is saying? That, he can grasp. Science and learning can so easily be tools of despair - so he has seen in his father, as the years of study turn to bitter obsession, and so he has found in himself - but it is something to remember, that core of hope.]

[He nods, and a faint smile touches his lips for a moment.]

I have no money for beer, least of all money that will be taken in this land. But I would make such a toast gladly.

And I thank you. You have raised my spirits a little. We will seek our answers together, you and I.

There was a young man at a table on the street, a few blocks away. He had gigantic moth wings - [which gets a wide-eyed expression of bewilderment] - but he gave me a map, and these. Said he was there to help new folks like us, from some place called the Lighthouse.

[Norman dips a hand into his coat and brings out a handful of solars]

I can spare at least a few for a round. I'm not intending to be without work for long.

The Lighthouse?

A fine name. [But he does not sound enthused, and he does not trust it. His trust will not be bought by monsters, least of all for a few pieces of gold. Not when he has heard already, from every quarter, how this place can warp the mind.]

[Other benefactors, in his own world, came promising light, as well. Not all of them have shone for long ere turning to shadow.]

[No, he will not trust this Lighthouse. He trusts in the goodness of men, where he can; but here he cannot, and these are not men.]

May I see the map?

TDM: JANUARY/FEBRUARY

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