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

[humblecowboy]

[Spike can tell from the sound of Norman's footsteps that he's slower, though, and finds himself wishing he'd not lost his gun— every, every gun on his person, actually— in the church before he'd found his way here. He knows nothing about Norman, doesn't know if he'll regret making sure this guy leaves here just as alive as he is— but he does know that Norman helped him not get smacked in the head with a shovel.

So Spike stops short, ducking behind a grave to pick something up, and to obscure himself from the groundskeeper. This leaves the man's focus on Norman, and gives Spike enough time to line up a good shot. A few paces more, and Spike stands, letting loose the rock he's picked up, mentally thanking everything and nothing that he wasn't shot in the shoulder of his throwing arm.

Spike's aim is truer, as it's had to be to get him out of trouble since he was a child. It strikes the groundskeeper in the neck, knocking him to his knees and leaving him shocked, clutching his neck and screaming obscenities. With the shovel dropped, it should give Norman a few more paces grace before the groundskeeper is back on his feet.

Spike steps out from behind the grave again, gesturing for Norman to get going past him.]

Go, go, go!

[certaininequities]

[Spike doesn't have to tell him twice. Now that the groundskeeper knows for sure that they're there, he doesn't have to try to be stealthy. Norman puts as much speed into his legs as he can - he's got a bit of a limp from landing rough on one knee back in New York, but he manages, heading for the cemetary gate. his boots churn up loose soil in places, and as his heart starts to pound and the adrenaline kicks in, he's a little more sure in his stride. still not as fast as he used to be, but at least he's not fumbling on the edges of graves anymore, or noticing the pain as much.]

C'mon-! We can make this...!

[it's not far, now, he thinks, not bothering to look over his shoulder. he just has to trust that the other man is coming, listen for his footsteps behind, and keep his eyes forward to make sure he knows where he's going. the biggest factor now, he thinks, is if they have enough of a lead on the groundskeeper to beat him out of there to safety ... and if he'll stop once they reach the gates or not]

[humblecowboy]

[Whatever lead they have is considered good enough for Spike; they'll have to figure out what they do past the gate once they get there, but for now the focus is on running. Spike checks behind them as the gravekeeper finally pulls himself to his feet; he's at least slowed down, though he does get up to start following again.

But as the two approach the gate, Spike just a few paces behind Norman, the gravekeeper seems to get frustrated and slow to a stop, yelling useless obscenities at them again. Past the gates of the cemetery, Spike reaches out to tap Norman's arm with his knuckles to get his attention and—]

To the right!

[— direct him further away, so that they can get far enough to breathe and regroup.]

[certaininequities]

[his lungs are starting to protest, constricting in the cold air, but Norman keeps driving forward through sheer will and adrenaline. the brief touch of the other man's hand gives him a second wind, and he turns as directed. once they're a safe distance away, he leans over, bracing his hands on his knees, and catches his breath.

after a moment, he realizes that he'll warm up faster if he actually pulls up the hood poking out from the collar of his coat, and flips it up over his disheveled hair]

Thanks. ... You - you okay?