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

I'm wounded, Doctor Ziegler. I've always held you in such high regard.

[She makes no move to help the other to her feet, knowing her attempts to assist would most likely be knocked away anyways. Plus it lets her observe the way the other moves, and gives her a wider angle of the changes. Extra eyes. The faint light, a touch of holy that crawls against her skin in a faint ache. The halo. She's not surprised in the least. This place does love it's jokes.

The accusatory look makes her smile, a light upturn of the corner of her mouth. Oh, she can read the thoughts behind those eyes. A slight arch of her eyebrow is her only answer to that, though she will answer the rest of it, wings flexing a little on her back before settling in tighter.]

Indeed. While the technology here is woefully lacking, there have been others before me doing the same, and combined with their notes left behind I've managed to sequence out a few of the strains.

[Her tone suggests that while she's sequenced it well enough, doing anything to manipulate it is another matter. Curling her finger against her chin, she studies the good Doctor some more, her tone thoughtful.]

Ask your questions, Doctor, I will fill you in with what knowledge I possess.

Oh there is no doubt in my mind that you are brilliant, Miss O'Deorain. [Angela meets her gaze for a moment, eyes fierce and glowing with ethereal light.] Brilliant, but brutal. You are an incredible scientist, but I can't say I have much love for your process.

[It feels conspiratorial and wrong to be talking any semblance of "shop" with an ex-Blackwatch member. But she wants to understand and so she rubs her arms self consciously and considers the situation.]

These transformations, they are what, exactly? A byproduct of some sort of disease? Or poison?

[Ah, the familiar back and forth. She did miss it. To the question, she folds her arms lightly over her chest and moves to lean against one sink, resting her weight there, her tail curling along her leg.]

If only it was so simple. It is no contagion, as myself and countless others have confirmed. No. As loathe as I am to admit it, these changes are the product of the very same thing that brought us here.

[For once her voice lacks the usual light tone. It's flat, and her expression is one of disdain.]

A capricious "God", Dear Doctor. Magic. While the changes do go down to our very cells, and thus should be easy enough to reverse or alter, certain areas are obfuscated behind this Gods power.

That's...

[Absurd. She stops, breathes. She has six wings, four fully functional eyes, a tail and horns. What's she going to do, look someone in the eyes who's been here and done the science and tell them they're wrong? Wrong just because she can't believe them? No, that would be absurd.]

That seems impossible. [Angela eyes her skeptically. That being said...] But you would not say it if you were not certain that is the only answer, so there must be evidence to support it.

[Or at least evidence to exclude all other possibilities. Mostly to herself, she says:]

And you have tried, of course, to change or remove the effects, then. What, medically speaking, do these changes do? What does this "magic" actually affect? The changes are not cosmetic only, I suppose.

[She can hazard a guess what Ziegler is about to say and she tilts her head lightly in acknowledgement. She has spent countless sleepless nights going over the research, trying again and again to uncover what this magic hides, only to be thwarted at every turn, or teased with a hint of success. Resting her elbow on one hand, she rests her chin in her fingers, long claws stroking along her bottom lip in thought.]

Unfortunately, I am quite certain of the results. There are others here with similar knowledge as I, and despite our heads together, we've made little leeway. [She smiles a little to the next set of words.] Why Ziegler, you know me so well. Every attempt to remove the changes is met with varying results. Most of the time, it's quite dramatically opposite of what I would expect. Changes hastened, weaknesses increased instead of removed. It would seem our most benevolent Deity does not like us tampering with her pets. And oh no, far from cosmetic only.

[Pushing herself away from the sink, she holds her scarred hand out and curls her fingers. Within her palm fire instantly springs to life, her odd eyes burning red as she calls it forth. The faint scent of brimstone accompanies it, before she closes her fist and snuffs the flame, smoke wisping up to the ceiling and her eyes returning to normal.]

It affects our very genetics, grants us new powers, but also curses us with a variety of weaknesses. Your wings, like mine, will grant you actual flight. You will cast light from your very being. And... [A little smile here as she eyes the new height.] You have gained a bit of height.

[Angela shudders at the thought of the experiments, the suffering, that lead to those results. The fire, likewise, elicits a shiver - but from a different part of her psyche. Though she's never been the religious type, despite her thematic choices, the immediate gut reaction to the unholy source of the flame is notable. Her eyes flicker between Moira's face and her now closed fist, Angela's own expression revealing more than she'd like.

Then there's no going back, is there? This is who I am, who I will become?]

You mentioned...weaknesses?

[Why does she suspect these monstrous "gifts" are given with the expectation that she is to give something in return? Perhaps she should have given all those pamphlets the locals had thrust upon her more than a cursory glance and automatic rejection.]

Edited (I MADE THE TEXT VERY TINY OOPS) 2022-02-24 07:24 (UTC)

[For the first time, Moira shows some hesitancy. Not in regards to Ziegler's feelings, oh no. But simply deciding how much of her hand to show. How much to lay on the table for the Nephilim. How soon to lay it all out.]

Indeed, I did. But perhaps a diner bathroom is not the place to discuss such matters?

[She glances around them and to the mess Ziegler made while changing. Blood. Feathers. She needs to be cleaned up, and the less attention they attract to themselves, the better. Turning on her heel, Moira heads for the door, pausing at it.]

Do meet me outside, we can discuss further at my place. [She throws an amused look at the blonde over her shoulder.] If you're not too adverse to dealing with the devil, that is.

[She'll leave the bathroom after, cutting a line straight for the exit.]

TDM: JANUARY/FEBRUARY

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sorry for the delay! sleeping disorders suck,,

god I know that