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

[nearamir]

[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!

[hecatombed]

[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.]

[nearamir]

[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!

[hecatombed]

[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.]

[nearamir]

[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...

[hecatombed]

[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.]

[nearamir]

[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.