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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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?

[Hythlodaeus is quick to tuck himself behind the gravestone with Faramir, gathering the billowing lengths of his robes in his hands to keep them hidden. Two mud-streaked undead, hiding from the undertaker, cold breaths intermingling in trepidation. He makes a quiet noise of protest to the suggestion, but relents.]

T'would be remiss of me to potentially mishandle such a delicate situation. Very well. I will stay behind, but I would urge you to stick to diplomacy first and foremost...

[Hythlodaeus is loathe to risk his new friend's safety so soon after their meeting, but approaching such a sinister figure in greater numbers could provoke an altercation. Furthermore, staying behind granted them the element of surprise should the negotiations turn sour.]

Be safe, my new friend. I will not abandon you.

Fear not, my friend. Not even if I were sure of victory would I choose battle; for it has been in great surfeit these past few days, and I will not seek more.

[He clasps Hythlodaeus' shoulder for a moment, meeting the other man's eyes, and offers a smile that verges on the apologetic; then stands, pushing his wet hair back from his face with both hands, and strides into the clinging mist and rain.]

[The gravekeeper is far enough away that by the time Faramir draws close to him, his voice will not carry all too clearly to Hythlodaeus' hiding place ~~because I don't want to write a whole tag of npc dialogue~~; but it is clear that diplomacy is not working out as well as may be hoped. Faramir's voice carries unclearly, a low and conciliatory tone that is dampened easily by the wind and rain. He keeps his distance, hands open and spread, movements slow and reassuring - except when he must move faster, to duck back from a blow.]

[The gravekeeper, by contrast, is not so restrained: between swings of his shovel, he snarls that the buried should remain buried, that their kind are not welcome. He does not seem to be at all softened by Faramir's peaceable approach.]

[True to his word, Faramir does not fight back for some time, but continues in that steady, reasonable tone for some minutes before at last resigning himself to the idea that a fight may be unavoidable. If Hythlodaeus does not come to his aid before that point, he will at last move to meet one of the gravedigger's blows, to try and wrest the massive shovel from the figure's hands. It is not easy, but nor is it the most taxing fight he has faced - in his life, or, it strikes him, even in the past few hours of his memory.]

[Faramir's words are a reassurance and also a concern. Perhaps it was no small coincidence that they both had been plucked from the precipice of catastrophe on their own worlds before arriving here. Maybe Faramir, too, had been fervent in prayer before surrendering himself to the will of his god. A conversation for another time, it seemed, as the conversation he could barely catch on the wind seemed to have taken a turn for the unfavorable. Chancing a glimpse out around the protection of this stranger's grave, Hythlodaeus could make out tense forms, not poised for peace, and a swing of a shovel.]

[Hiking his robes up to his knees swiftly, he pushed off of the slick ground with one foot, strong momentum that would carry him towards his new friend's side as quickly as possible, soaked shoes giving him away with their soggy steps.]

Another proud win for pacifism, I see!

[Using his height to his advantage, Hythlodaeus decides to step behind the gravekeeper while he's busy trying to wrest the shovel from Faramir's hold. Archery always had him at a safe distance from his enemies, and he found himself missing the comforting buffer zone his bow had afforded him in the past. Winding his forearm around the undertaker's throat, he pulled him in a backwards chokehold - or, what Hythlodaeus assumed would be one. He wasn't strong, but he was tall, and hopefully the deprivation of oxygen was enough to give Faramir an edge in securing the weapon from between them.]

If you would, kindly hurry!

[Faramir is not sluggish in his response, at least; seizing the chance afforded to him by his opponent's momentary shock and distraction, he sets his heels into the mud and twists the shovel out of the gravekeeper's hands, pulling hard enough and sharp enough to send him stumbling back a half-step as the makeshift weapon comes loose of the big man's grip.]

Down!

[Perhaps the gravekeeper still has information that may help them, but it seems a poor time to ask. Instead, if Hythlodaeus will duck enough to give him space, Faramir brings the worn wooden handle of the shovel around in a sharp knock against the gravedigger's skull. Hopefully it will knock the man senseless, and not kill him. Under the circumstances, it seems that may be the best they can do.]

[Soft of heart but sharp of mind, Hythlodaeus is quick to do as he's told. Dropping to a crouch, he is barely missed by the strong swing of Faramir's stolen shovel. The handle connects with a sickening thud, but no other cracking sounds to suggest lethal damage. The gravekeeper falls, and Hythlodaeus has to be equally as nimble as before to avoid being crushed by that dead weight.]

[Panting, he pushes himself back to his feet, making a futile effort to dust the dirt from his robes. There was no way he would ever look anything close to presentable anytime soon.]

What a performance! Fortunate am I to have met with one so gifted in the art of combat. [A pause to take a breath.] ...Would it that we needn't have resorted to such measures.

[Casting a violet gaze upon the unconscious body of their foe, Hythlodaeus feels a twang of pity. He probably would have been caught off guard, as well, were he in the man's position. Ah well, all's fair in love and war, as they say.]

You have my thanks once again, Faramir. It seems my debts to you are racking up by the minute.

[Faramir shakes his head, casting the shovel aside, and drops to one knee to press his fingers against the man's throat. Only then does he exhale, a low and relieved sound.]

He lives. Help me move him; there is little shelter to had, but he may do better sitting than lying.

[Suiting action to word, he bends to get a grip beneath the unconscious man's arm, straining to pull him towards the nearest gravestone, the better to prop him up. As he does so, he looks up at Hythlodaeus, his grey eyes serious.]

As to debts, I fear you have miscounted. Was it not you who aided me, this time? And was it not my choice that brought us to this pass, in any case?

Let there be no accounting of debts - least of all ere this grim work is done. Are you hurt at all?

Ah, of course.

[Hythlodaeus takes the arm opposite, aiding Faramir in dragging the brute towards the stone. A soft grunt escapes him as he shoves the man, a bit inelegantly, to rest up against it.]

Well, if we had the questionable luck to survive the elements here, I should think that his large stature should afford him the same fate.

[If "survive" was even the right word.]

Oh, please. It was a joint effort that culminated in such excitement. Very well, I will graciously accept your relief of debts.

[He smiles warmly, taking stock of himself in response to Faramir's question. He was filthy as anything, a few scrapes from scuttling across the ground and behind graves, but nothing dire.]

Fit as a fiddle, it seems. A very unkempt fiddle, to be sure. If you are in similar standing, shall we continue? I believe this will be of great use.

[He stoops down to pick up the still-glowing lantern, dropped by the felled gravekeeper. Its handle creaked with rust as it was lifted, but the light shone true.]

Armed and illuminated, the weary wanderers press on.

[The smile that crosses Faramir's face is not quite so warm nor so broad as his companion's, but it is a smile nonetheless, and one that touches his eyes for a moment with weary humour.]

So long as you are a fiddle that may still be brought back to tune, then that may be enough to hope for. We have long enough to wait ere the hour may call for music.

[He bends to pick the shovel back up, hefting it experimentally before settling it onto his shoulder, and moves to join Hythlodaeus - only to turn back a moment later, raising a hand.] Wait.

[The keys. He saw the keys, heard them ringing at the guard's belt. He turns back, shifting the unconscious man's coat aside and fumbling with cold fingers at the loop that holds them. It feels uncomfortably like theft, but in dire circumstances, what can he do but his best?]

[When they are retrieved, he holds the keyring up for a moment to show Hythlodaeus, then fastens them at his own belt.] It seems wisest to leave nothing to chance. Let us press on, then.

[Hythlodaeus stops mid-step as he's told, turning his head slightly to see what gave his companion pause. His eyebrows dart up a little when he hears the jingling of the keys, lips slowly twirling into a smirk.]

Right you are. It would not do to approach the bars of our gaol without the means to undo them. Loath would I be to double back and have to contend with our new friend, freshly roused from his slumber. Luckily, one of us has the mind of a looting rascal.

[He brings his hand to his mouth to stifle a chuckle, the latter statement clearly meant in jest. And so he turned to walk alongside Faramir, holding the lantern out at arm's length to cast a wide area of light around them. The fog hindered the visibility somewhat, reflecting the light off of its thick plumes. For a few moments, the only sounds were the insects in the tall grass and the shuffling of their footsteps in the dirt.]

By the by... did you happen to see the names carved upon the surrounding graves from whence you rose?

[This jest, lightly spoken as it is, should not give him pause; he knows himself to be no looter, and he has committed no crime for which he should be gaoled. And yet, it cuts deeper than it is intended; and again, he must tangle with the thought that he knows not how or why he came here, or what changes may have been wrought in him to see him awakened. He is silent, then, and does not join Hythlodaeus in his merriment; instead, there is a shadow in his expression as they walk, and his eyes are downcast.]

[At the question, he starts a little, looking up, and then sighs.]

Alas, I did. A cruel trick, to see about me those whose graves lie elsewhere, and those whose deaths were not yet written when I fell.

They were my comrades and my kin. My brother, my father, my men. Did you find likewise?

Indeed.

[His face falls a little, brow furrowed in thought. His situation was much the same. Names of his beloved friends, none of which were fated to voyage with him on his return to the star. It was as puzzling as it was concerning, but surely if they truly were laid to rest there, their souls had either long departed, or they would have risen again with him. It was that conclusion that gave Hythlodaeus comfort - if they were indeed here, they would be by his side.]

Souls dear to me who should not have also made their aetherial departure in my wake. Curious.

[He walks on for a beat in silence again.]

I did not mean to startle you with my inquiry. Pray, forgive me, you must have much on your mind.

It was a just question. [He shifts the shovel to his other shoulder, reaching up to settle his cloak more effectively against the rain, and sighs heavily. Again, there is a moment where the only sound is the splash of their feet in the mud, and the distant whisper of the wind. At last, frowning, he looks over at his companion.]

...I have told you that my brother's name was among them. My mother's, too.

Both are dead, it is true; but she has lain some thirty years beneath Minas Tirith, and he had no grave at all. I see no way for either of them to have come to this place; unless the graves are empty, or there is some enchantment at play that we know not.

I do not know if it is a lie, or if it is some greater strangeness at work. But it is not so simple as it seems, in any case.

[Hythlodaeus is not so callous as to wear a happy expression while he hears of his friend's loss. His brow draws up a little in sympathy, even if Faramir does not want any, and the corners of his mouth fall.]

My deepest and most sincere condolences, friend. May their souls ever enjoy a peaceful rest at the heart of the star.

[A moment of silence. To continue speaking of other subjects so soon seems impolite, but he can't put it off forever. Hythlodaeus takes one of his long sleeves and wipes the condensation from the glass of the lantern so the light can remain unhindered.]

It certainly is a puzzle, and we do not yet have all the pieces... Hopefully whatever lies beyond the border of this place can afford us some more insight. Ah, speaking of which.

[The light catches on wrought iron bars - the giant, locked gate built to keep outsiders out. Or, in their case, insiders in. Hythlodaeus scrutinizes it in the dark for wherever a place may be to fit any of the keys they had picked up.]

There!

[Wrapped numerous times around the bars was a giant, heavy-duty chain keeping both doors of the gate together. A comically large, rusted padlock was affixed to it, ensuring that it would not be unwound.]

If you would be so kind, I will light your way. Perhaps sooner than later, I suggest. My eyes may not be up to their usual standard, but my ears seem to perceive heavy footfall in the distance.

[The words are unfamiliar, but the sentiment - the sympathy - is clear, and Faramir appreciates it. He appreciates even more the moving on of the conversation; his grief is not so raw that he wishes to stall their quest for it, and he had only raised it because it seems to him to be a part of the puzzle in itself. He does not want, in short, to have Hythlodaeus dwelling on it too long.]

[As well, then, that the light falls onto their hoped-for salvation when it does, and Faramir lengthens his stride, leaning the shovel against the gatepost.]

Sooner rather than later; indeed, as soon as I am able. Hold the lamp a little higher, if you would; there are too many keys, and I have no desire for pacifism to reach its end again so soon.

[Giving a lilting chuckle, Hythlodaeus lifts the lantern into the air a bit more and steps closer to Faramir. Their close proximity should afford the man a better look through the ring of keys, as well as a clear view of the padlock. Hythlodaeus cocks his head to glance behind them, his dirt-caked braid falling back over his shoulder from the angle.]

To think we may be bested by such an archaic contrivance!

[His tone is a strange mix of annoyance and amusement. The rudimentary items and tools in this foreign land would be charming if they weren't such a hindrance. If only he were able to call upon his magick in this place, however limited it may be, he would at least be able to open this lock. Instead he must put his faith in Faramir's nimble fingers, which, to his credit, have not failed them yet.]

If anything, I may be used as live bait, should the need arise.

[Just stop talking.]

[Archaic? Faramir arches a brow in mild curiosity at the choice of words. This is not a particularly new nor complex kind of lock, certainly - but archaic it is not. Old, certainly, to judge from the rust and the settled dirt where it sits, but that is not the same thing.]

[But that is another thing to be questioned later, if at all. For now, he focuses on sorting through the keys, testing those that look promising. The lock is stiff, and the keys unwieldy in his cold, mud-streaked hands; but he does his best, and will not hurry. More haste, less speed, as they say.]

If we are in need of bait, then I would call that a blessing; for it means the hunt can be avoided.

Ah! Hold the light steady; I think I have it!

[Now was not the time nor the place to compare the levels of technology they were respectively used to, that much was clear. The pounding of Hythlodaeus' heart beat in time with the quickened pace of the footsteps in the distance. He was a bit distracted, peering into the mist, trying to focus his eyes that had been reduced to what he could only assume was layman's sight.]

...Right!

[Snapping out of his focused vigil, he held his arm steady, trying not to shiver from the wet cold that draped itself over them. As soon as he heard the telling click of the lock and saw it drop from the chains, he used his free arm to help Faramir unwind the chain from where it was looped around the bars of the gate. Freeing the entire length of it wasn't necessary - they had only to loosen it enough to accommodate their width and they could shimmy through sideways to save time. Hythlodaeus had height to him, but he wasn't gifted with the bulk of muscle. He just had to duck under the chain in order to slip through, holding his robes up so that he might not trip over them and make a fool of himself.]

Hah... the light of civilization glows in this direction. At least, I very well hope it's civilization and not the burning lanterns of an impassioned mob!

[Tugging Faramir's wrist, he makes off towards the hopeful gleam of Bavan, not knowing how they would be received, or who would be receiving them. For a mercy, the gravekeeper was far too large to fit through the gap they had made in the gate, so when he would happen upon their exit, he would be stalled by unwinding the rest of the chain.]

[Faramir is not a particularly bulky man, either, although the armour he wears lends him less flexibility than might be ideal. The mail of his singlet catches briefly on an outcropping of wrought iron, forcing him to pause to disentangle himself - but it is a small thing, and then he is through, following Hythlodaeus out into the world.]

[Whatever world it may be. The lights have something strange about them, which cannot be accounted for by the still-lashing rain. They are the wrong colour, somehow.]

I suppose we will find out, one way or the other.

[This is an answer both to Hythlodaeus' comment, and to his own musings. He glances back over his shoulder as he is pulled away, to see the approaching bulk of the gravedigger through the mists and the half-open gate, and he has to confess to a certain admiration for a man who will overcome a blow like that and still keep to his duty.]

[Not that it is particularly reassuring, when that duty seems to include trying to dash their brains out in turn. He turns forward again, lengthening his stride.]

At least there may be someone there with the patience to stand and talk!

[The thud and splash of quickened footfalls on soaked mud gave way to a sharper, harder noise as the ground transitioned to pavement. The outskirts of Bavan provided them with cement pathways leading into the city. It wasn't spotless and pristine like the streets Hythlodaeus was used to in his metropolis, but this urban sprawl was much more akin to that with which he was accustomed than the deserted graveyard was. Panting, he kept a decent pace with Faramir until they were safe between rows of buildings. An athlete he was not. He was much more comfortable behind a desk, where he belonged. But alas, fate had placed him out of breath in the rain, covered in dirt, legs burning.]

Ah... phew, 'tis plain our foe has ceased giving chase. To be prudent, however, let us muddle ourselves in the throng. Though I'm not quite certain how well we'll do at blending in...

[With another huff, Hythlodaeus approaches the groups of pedestrians roaming the sidewalk with a calm ease, one very at home in the bustle of a city. He makes sure Faramir is close by, however, as he feels it's still appropriate to look out for each other. Who knows what else might be looking to bludgeon their skulls in with the tool of their respective trade.]

[It is just as well that Hythlodaeus is with him, and keeping an eye on him; for as soon as they are among the buildings, Faramir's pace begins to slow, his eye wandering. He ought not to hesitate, ought to keep his mind on the matter at hand, but...]

[These buildings arch high as mallorn-trees, glinting glass and steel, silent guards of a jagged skyline. Beneath their feet, the mud has given way not to dressed granite, as he first thought, but to something else; something smooth and seamless, a river of stone. There are lights behind the glass; witch-lights that do not flicker, but burn in strange colours. This is a dream-city, and he falters where he walks, turning his face up towards the falling rain, which is caught in strange colours as it drips onto the black roadway.]

[He is doing a terrible job at blending in.]

...This place...

[Now that they have been afforded some form of calm, Hythlodaeus takes the time to pull the massive black hood of his robe up over his head, covering him from the rain. It obstructs his peripheral view of Faramir, however, so he turns to make sure everything is still all right.]

A bit garish, I'll admit, but we are hardly in a position to criticize.

[He laughs, wading back through the crowd to stand closer to Faramir. Any more distance between them and they might be swept apart by the current.]

How do you fare? I trust our heroic escape left you without any injuries of note?

[Faramir seems to be preoccupied with looking around. Is he dazed? Did he knock his head? Perhaps he just needs rest.]

[Faramir runs a muddy hand over his face, frowning; then shakes his head sharply, as though he is indeed dazed and trying to knock himself out of his stupor. In a sense, perhaps that is the best way to see it.]

[He clears his throat, and looks at Hythlodaeus more squarely, offering a small smile.]

Naught worse than bruises and scrapes, I would say. In body, at least, I am more hale than I have right to be.

[He sighs, letting his hand drop back to his side.] Forgive me. This place has the air to it of a dream, but not one that my mind has ever forged; and everything is strange. I am all right. I am only lost.

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TDM: JANUARY/FEBRUARY

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i hope this is ok i wrote myself into a corner again ;-;

it's totally fine i anticipated them having to encounter sir gravekeeper!

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