Entry tags:

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.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

one

[It's quite a large grave, because Muriel is quite a large man. Although he contemplates staying there for a few minutes, he ultimately decides to get up. Rest is nice, but eventually it's going to start raining on his face.]

[Bad day for the gravedigger, though. Other fresh arrivals may come across Muriel patiently holding the man aloft by the end of the shovel while he dangles from the spade bit and swears.]

Just let go.

[His voice is exceptionally quiet, considering it sounds like a storm rolling in.]

You can't keep it if you're just going to hit people with it.

two

[Bavan is a lot. Hidden as well as he can be under a traveling cloak, Muriel's nonetheless easily the most conspicuous person in the group because of his height alone, so his valiant attempts at not being bothered are futile. He's also a perfect target for people shoving pamphlets into his hands, despite his increasingly frantic hissed demands that they go away.]

[They don't go away. Muriel goes away. Wherever there's an awning tucked away from a main street, wherever there's an alley far away from cars, or a fucking park, for god's sake — there he skulks, thumbing through the pamphlets in bewilderment.]

Law? Why . . . what law?

[There is theoretically one way Ryslig is better than Vesuvia, but the likelihood he'll believe in it is, ha-ha, criminally low.]

four; self-mutilation cw

[It's the horns that do it.]

[The rest of it is bad, but the horns break him. He's caught out by the horror of watching white fur grow from the follicles in his arms when the tip of the horn bursts out of his head, and he crumples with an almost-inaudible grunt to the ground. In a park again, as he's been almost every day since his arrival, he's as isolated as ever in the unimaginable pain of bone cracking through bone.]

[Except it's not unimaginable. That's . . . the thing, it's not the first time he's hurt this badly, and no matter what he might have thought not long ago, it won't be the last.]

[The shape of the horns as they grow tell him everything he needs to know. He charges out of the thin woods of the park and into the thin crowd of new monsters finding their way in the fog. The first monster he sees who's not actively panicking is stopped in their tracks by a man who has officially crested seven feet with the addition of goat horns, blood running down his face, and a surprisingly calm tone for all of its shakes.]

I need to find a saw. Do you know where I can find one?

wildcard

[kim possible theme song]

[One]

[Mirabel wakes up with a gasp, the scent of dirt filling her nostrils. Panic sets in, as it would for anyone, if they were asleep one moment and woke up in an open grave. Was she kidnapped? She had to be, to wake up like this. It doesn't take long for her to climb back out, and when she sees her gravestone...]

This is... this is a bad dream. I'm going to wake up any second now.

[There's chills down her spine, but it gets worse - as she looks around, she sees the graves of her family members. Her mom, dad, Luisa, Isabela... everyone has their own gravestone. Her eyes widen, she lets out a panicked gasp, and rushes over to the nearest grave - Luisa's.]

Just a bad dream - it's just a bad dream!

[Mirabel starts to frantically dig through the dirt.]

Luisa, I know you're too strong to be stuck in there! Get out of there!!

[Please.]

[Two]

[After being rescued from the graveyard, she's walking around town in a dazed state. She wasn't waking up, she has no idea where she is, or how far she is from home. And her family may be potentially dead? She pushes that last thought away. They weren't dead. They weren't. And she needs to get back to them.

A man comes around the corner, brandishing a pitchfork. Mirabel gives him a look over, a feeling of alarm rising in her gut.]

Hola. Are you... okay?

[The man screams "monster!" before trying to attack her with the pitchfork. She backs away with her hands up. Help her?]

[Four - Nymph]

Are you kidding me?!

[There's a very annoyed, green girl with flowery hair. She doesn't look happy.]

I look like something Isa made!

Edited 2022-01-14 22:30 (UTC)

i

[The first thing that woke him was the rain. Small droplets at first, falling onto his forehead, his eyelids, his cheeks. Making quick snaps as they hit the shallow puddles beginning to form in the mud. The air was heavy with the scent of fresh earth and dew. But where was he?]

[The last thing he remembered was the end. Or, what should have been the end. Was this truly what lied beyond life itself? Surely not. He still had a corporeal form, and my, was it filthy.]

Goodness, what on...

[The thought trailed off, thick wisps of his breath hanging around after every word. Gingerly, he used the edge of his own grave as leverage to bring himself to his feet. The mud was soft under his grip, leaving an imprint of his thin hand behind. Chancing a glance behind him as he brushed the dirt from his long, dark robes, he read his own name carved into the headstone.]

Well, that's decidedly adventitious.

ii

[Having perhaps already had a run-in with another who had also survived their own mass sacrifice, or maybe an unruly gravedigger, Hythlodaeus had found himself in the middle of the city. It was a more familiar environment in that it was more populated and urban than the graveyard, but in all other aspects it was not at all like Amaurot. No endless stretch of buildings and spires to cradle the life walking the streets below, no pristine, geometrically exact architecture, soothing in its careful perfection. Instead, there were rudimentary vehicles, expelling noxious fumes and blasting an obnoxious, affronting noise at him and a few others who had happened to be in the street. Apparently, these streets weren't for walking, he'd observed. Wherever he was, it was nowhere he'd ever seen before.]

I beg your pardon...?

[Catching someone's attention seemed to prove a fruitless endeavor. Never before had he been met with such thorough disdain. If it weren't for the scalding looks being cast toward him, he would think himself invisible. Was it the way he looked? Honestly, his robes were undeniably tattered, his long hair barely clinging to the shape of the braid it had once been fashioned into. With a sigh, he supposed his next strategy would be to make himself look a bit more presentable. Perhaps then would he be graced with a response from the residents here. Before he could travel down that road of thought, however, a pamphlet was thrust into his hands by an enthusiastic resident.]

One-hundred percent accurate... monster quiz assessment. Guaranteed to predict your monster~!

[Hythlodaeus read the extremely large headline with a bit of an amused flourish, as the garish text seemed to call for. It made the corners of his mouth turn upwards despite his current situation. He had no idea what this was about, but whoever designed it truly put their heart into it.]

There are monsters here? What fun! T'would be a shame not to find out which one suits me.

[If you happen to be near him, he'd offer to take the quiz with you, or perhaps you've gotten a better idea of the situation than he seems to have.]

iii

[Anything you'd like! Monstery or not. Transformation threads are welcome, I'd like to try a few different ones out which is why I didn't make it its own prompt.]

[ I | and i awoke to a greater darkness ]
[There had been the clash of battle, of steel and meat; there had been the thunder of hooves, and the cries of dying men, and above it all the beating of great and terrible wings. Then, as his horse reared beneath him and the foe he fought crashed blow after blow against his shield... sharp pain. Cold. Dread. Darkness.]

[He awakes.]

[For a moment, he is not sure where he is. Then he stands, dripping in muck, fumbling for a sword that is absent from its scabbard, and he is not in the smallest part surprised to see the name on the stone.]

[Not surprised, no - but horrorstruck. For what is dead must be dead, and what does not die is...]

[He has seen the faces of those which does not die. He has heard the beat of their foul mounts' wings.]

[He scrambles out of the grave without any of his usual grace, and stands panting in the darkness, his hand clutched unconsciously to the place beneath his ribs where that cold pain first sprouted. Cold. It is so cold. He stumbles through the cold darkness, a tall, lean figure still armoured for battle, his long dark hair half-shielding his face, his grey eyes wide and wild. At last, seeing the hint of a light and a figure in the dimness, he lengthens his stride, finding his voice for the first time since waking.]

Hold! Hold, and speak a pace with me! I mean you no harm.

[At least, he hopes he does not. Who knows what the dead may mean?]

[ II | denial ]
[This city is madness itself. Minas Tirith is a bustling place, but not like this - neither so bright, with lights that bristle in colours that he has never seen, nor so loud. Faramir walks without aim, his hood raised against the falling rain. Few approach him.]

[Few, but not none. He takes the pamphlets when they are handed to him, and glances down at them; then reads them again, more slowly; then, with a grave and heavy weight, he shakes his head.]

I will not. I will not, not now, nor ever. For all that has been lost, and all that may yet be lost, I will not.

[So, yes, that is a hooded man in armour muttering angrily to himself in the middle of the street. Honestly, not even the strangest thing happening on this city block.]

[ II | anger ]
[He can only go so long before he meets one of the monsters that the pamphlet spoke of. At least, "meets" may not be quite the word.]

[He has no sword, no shield, no bow. But he has a sturdy stave he picked up in the graveyard, and the power of his conviction behind him as he places himself firmly in the monster's way, the stave held in a decidedly threatening posture.]

Do you speak, creature, or no?

[ IV | change (nymph) ]
[His skin is changing, thickening to bark. Through it jut sharp, clawing thorns, bloodied where they burst to the surface. It must hurt, but although he is tense and his hands have clenched into fists, he does not move or cry out. He is staring at his reflection in one of the plate glass shop windows, his face grave.]

Is this how it begins? With so easy a thing as pain?

[Talk to him at your own risk. He has the tone of a man who could break into soliloquy at any moment.]

Edited 2022-01-14 23:25 (UTC)

One

[ The last thing she remembers is landing on the roots, the smell of fresh earth and faint rain and her own blood, and the satisfaction of knowing everyone lived. Falling asleep. In a blink, she awakens. The smell of fresh earth and faint rain and... nothing else. Huh. An arm lifts as the immediate is assessed - bloodstains long since dried, school uniform, kind of hurts but nowhere near what it was - and that's enough.

A schoolgirl crawls out of her grave and prepares to run, but looks back at the name. Yeah, she knows those characters. Her own name. That's how the trope works. The scoff of disgust is all it's dignified. But- The grave next to hers. She knows those characters. More than she knows her own.

And Wakaba sits back down. Whatever possible fight was left has vanished, staring at that headstone. Let the gravekeeper kill her again, who cares. ]

Two

[ Compared to everyone else's reactions, Wakaba just looks awestruck. Staring at the standing buildings and other people - even the glaring ones - like someone who's living a dream. Everything about the graveyard awakening has left her mind in the wake of seeing people. People! Living people! Someone is shoving pamphlets and care packages into her hands, saying something she is very clearly not listening to, too busy staring blankly at a farmer's market that is definitely not going through a food shortage. ]

Hey. This is weird to ask, but... How are you alive?

[ The person is momentarily taken aback, quickly finding Literally Anywhere Else to be as an answer. ...Well. So much for that. She finally takes a glance down at the papers she was handed. Ryslig. What's a Ryslig. Where is Ryslig? Okay, read that one later, next is-

Uh. ...Oh no- The futile shout after the fleeing guy is immediate. ]

Wait! I'm sorry! I didn't mean it like that!

Wildcard
[ ominous nier soundtrack music. Also assume I'm down for anything, hit meeee ]

[Everything in him rebels against the idea of initiating conversation with anyone, much less a stranger. He's as off-kilter as anyone else about these pamphlets, but no one else's input is going to make the situation any better, and he's always done a good job of not being curious. About anything.]

[But this gets him. He's walking down the street, pressed close to shop walls and shoving his own burden of pamphlets away in his traveling cloak, when he hears. Like. Babbling? It sounds like babbling.]

[He stops to listen for a bit. Then he seems to be waiting for something, until he realizes it's not coming. So, against his better judgment, he asks:]

Will not what?

[What are you even saying, man.]

[It's kind of understandable, poor guy. There's no way not to take that as a threat from a future monster. At best, it's kind of a grim existential question. How is any human alive here? How do human beings survive in Ryslig? Why are you alive, pamphlet man, when your aunt was drained of blood and hung upside down from a tree branch for shiggles?]

[Muriel stares after the fleeing man, too. Studying. Thoughtful. A bit like a void of presence for a guy a foot and a half taller than Wakaba; it feels like there's no one there. But there is, and eventually he does speak.]

. . . He runs fast.

[That's probably why, is what Muriel means.]

[ Well that's a jumpscare and a half. Her back hardens at the sudden presence, but nothing else. I guess outrunning monsters helps your longevity? At the same time, running was never enough. Probably isn't enough here, either. ]

...I guess being athletic might help.

[ The pamphlets get another brief once-over, looking for something specific that doesn't appear in the pages, and that's... fine. There's a lot here she'll need to unpack later. Preferably where she can freak out in private. But for now there's someone here, and Wakaba turns around to look up at the voice. ]

And up. Woah. ] Sorry if you needed to speak with him.

[Currently puzzling over the one about Ryslig law, he takes a moment to respond. When he finally looks down at her, he blinks in surprise. Not because she's small, everyone's small compared to him, but because she apologized.]

[This is a politeness apology. But apologies of any kind to Muriel are rare, so. Hard to discern, really.]

No. He was just handing me more papers.

[There's a hint of grumpiness in his tone, like he's just caught a puppy peeing on the rug again. He flaps a pamphlet in the air. It makes a whap-whap sound, somewhere in the stratosphere.]

Don't know why he did that.

Edited (fussing with dialogue!!!!!) 2022-01-15 00:15 (UTC)

Those ain't accurate at all, yo. Don' bother wid it.

[The words are cheerfully coming from a ... slime. In the shape of a human, but there's no mistaking the fact it's a slime. In bright 'I'm possibly poisonous' colors, despite being absolutely not. It's not hard to spot newcomers, they're still dressed in the clothes of their homeworld, and while fashion here has been influenced by outsiders, long black robes hasn't exactly caught on.]

Yer monster form prolly gonna come as a complete surprise. Oh shit, uh, sorry, 'ey, welcome to Ryslig.

[The little core in the middle of his chest is in the shape of a softly carved skull and it seems to spin lightly in confusion, as Beat sets his hands on his hips and tries to figure out where to start. Being a slime means difficulty in thinking, even more so than before.]

You will be turnin' into somethin', no one figured out how to stop it yet, but those quizzes don' help in the least.

[For a long while there isn’t movement or sound as Mirabel digs. Luisa suddenly shifts under the dirt as she hears her younger sister. The movement is like a miniature earthquake: sudden and not a little scary. Luisa’s head throbbed—which was unusual in of itself—but she had to get out…! Not only just because the dirt was beginning to choke her.

There’s a choking sound as more dirt shifts underneath Mirabel. Sputtering and coughing, Luisa pushes herself out of the ground and—is shaking.]

Mirabel…! [She wants to cry. This is the worst; this should have been the other way around.]

[ There's a single blink at the comment about being handed papers. This man would be the main target for people handing out ads on street corners - but the smile that comes after is genuine. ]

Our situation seems common enough. Maybe he was trying to help?

Oh, I didn't... My goodness!

[Forgive him, the exclamation wasn't exactly planned. It's just not every day that you see a fluorescent, gelatinous humanoid. Hythlodaeus had seen plenty of wondrous creations in his time at the Bureau, ranging from animal to monster to... other. Slime concepts weren't unheard of, but the ones he usually saw weren't so flashy.]

You're capable of speech! What a marvel!

[He beams, practically forgetting about the pamphlet in his hand. Or anything else, for that matter. Look at this creature! Wonderful!]

1. Sleeping Beauty (Graveyard)

[Little Mermaid knows in her hearts of hearts that she didn't expect to open her eyes. She was meant for the sea foam. That was the ending of that old story, wasn't it? She doesn't want to open them. So she lays in the grave for a few moments.

It's the moisture in the air that stirs the teenager. The air feels heavy, like it was at the waterside. Yet this was different. It familiars in a way she can't describe. Little Mermaid forces herself to sit up, to open her eyes.

The dark heavy clouds far above seemed to be promising rain. A storm brewing, maybe? Poor weather for sailing. Princes should stick to the shoreline. Such thoughts are strange to her but she shakes the cobwebs from her head. That couldn't be it, could it?

Little Mermaid scrambles to her feet quickly, dirt staining her white uniform and scarf trailing behind her.]

That's the real sky! [She nearly yells it to no one in particular. She climbs out of the ditch with all the grace of a scraggly teenage girl.]

2. Little Red Riding Hood (Graveyard)

[She finally gets a hold of herself. She can't be freaking out when others are in the same situation. Little Mermaid wanders the graveyard, looking for those who were waking up like she was. The problem was that she wasn't alone.]

Ah... sir?

[The gravekeeper finds her with a sudden swing of his heavy shovel. She manages to get out of the way in the nick of time. It barely scrapes her as it lands with a thunk on the ground.]

Ah! There's no need for that! Please calm down, sir!

[She's definitely backing away, looking for something to help defend herself.]

3. Snow White and the Seven Dwarves (Bugs)

Excuse me? A monster?

[The bug people have surrounded Little Mermaid. Her eyes shift from one to another. These aren't human and not Marchen, either. Not that it bothers her but their profanity and words do. She frowns and puffs her cheeks.]

I'm a Blood Maiden not a monster!

[The strange locals seem even more excited at that.]

Oh shit! Never heard of that kind of monster!

[Little Mermaid's frown turns into a full blown scowl. Someone should probably help?]

4. The Little Mermaid (Harpy)

[It's a couple days since the first fog after arrivals. Little Mermaid managed to get out of it fairly unchanged. A few white feathers here and there are the only visible signs. She's more excited at the invisible change.

Since she's been here Little Mermaid has felt an itch she couldn't quite scratch. At first she thought it was because she didn't have her beloved microphone with her. Even after finding a new one it didn't work. Her singing voice sounded wrong somehow to her. With all the wrongness of the peninsula as a whole she's kept it quiet, a small anxiety pushed aside.

Now, though? She's back to her favorite spot: a rock near the shore of Lake Dala. She sits on it, closing her eyes. This has to be the place. It might not be the sea but it felt right somehow. She clears her throat a few times before humming a soft tune.

It has no words but that doesn't bother her. She sings loudly, trying to send it out across the waves.]

La~ Lala~ La~

[After all, she's alone. Right? No one can see her embarrassing self indulgence out here... Hopefully.]

[This is an absolute nightmare. Mirabel watches in horror as the ground shifts, and her sister emerges. She didn't want to be right, she didn't want to think her family was buried in these graves - buried alive too, at that.]

Luisa! What... what...

[She can't even finish talking, practically throws herself at Luisa while trying and failing to hold back tears.]

Yo, most people go for those typa insults after gettin' to know me.

[The grin doesn't waver off his face though. He's aware of what he looks like. Like someone got too enthusiastic with creating a jelly sandwich and just started layering.

Or jello someone forgot about in the fridge, and it grew sentience and walked out on it's own.]

[That is, if Faramir is honest with himself, a very good question. Has the worst of the transformation not already come to pass? The dead arisen, the world around him come to ruin? Is he not a monster already?]

[He is not, he determines. He is not, for it must not be so, and he holds out the pamphlet at the top of the pile - Change Is Inevitable: Understanding Ryslig - wordlessly to this stranger, as though it must explain everything.]

[When it does not seem to, he sighs, and something in his mien shifts; aggravation giving way to a profound sorrow.]

I will not become a beast. Dead or alive, I refute it utterly.

Insult? Hardly. The fact that you are imbued with the intelligence required to form such sentences, however uncouth, speaks volumes for your creator's prowess!

[Hythlodaeus marvels at Beat for another moment, taking in his existence. The fact that there is no soul to be seen aligns quite well with his initial impression of this creature being a concept. His violet eyes wander down to what seems to be Beat's heart. Or, his skull? Where a heart would be?]

Would you be so kind as to explain the function of the skull in your- [Ahem.] -chest?

And what's wrong with that?

[Of course. Of course Isabela had to walk in just as Mirabel said that. Downsizing from their beautiful Casita to a small, modest apartment in the city meant that what little privacy they did have back home has shrunk even further.

To be fair, Isabela hadn't been snooping. As Mirabel copes with her own changes, so too did her oldest sister; they're not as drastic and visible as Mirabel, but there's... something off about Isabela's skin. What at first looks like several patchy red rashes across her arms and legs, and even crawling up the side of her neck and cheek, are on closer inspection scales. Tiny, layered scales, seemingly crimson red, that glint as they catch the light. They grow out of her skin in a way similar the leafy vines of Mirabel's new "hair" do, but there's no uniform spread to them.]

I don't know, I think it's a good look for you.

[She's got that infuriatingly smug look on her face that Mirabel knows all so well, but there's also a playful glint in her eyes. But there's something... off, too. About the way her eyebrows furrow, and how she idly scratches at a patch of scales on her forearm.]

[In a strange way, this is almost a relief. This, at least, is simple. This is a situation in which he knows what must be done. In the strange landscape of this alien world, that has a kind of comfort to it.]

[His scabbard is empty, and he has no other weapons to speak of, but he snatches up the lid of a nearby dustbin, wielding it in place of a shield as he darts between the girl and the man with the pitchfork. He has already buffeted aside that first clumsy blow before he fully registers what it is the man is saying. Monster. How is he to know that she is otherwise?]

[One glance behind him settles the matter to his satisfaction. She does not look to him monstrous, and nor does he feel from her anything but her justified alarm - and he will not leave a frightened girl to uncertain fate. He shifts his grip on the too-light, too-thin metal lid, and stands at his full height, staring down the man with the pitchfork.]

Whatever quarrel you have with her, see it solved another way. It would be ill to come to blows, but iller still will I let this become a murder.

[Now Beat's not sure if that's an insult or not because he didn't understand some of those words. He glances down to the question, as if to see what this dude sees and oh rights mentally.]

Oh, that's my nucleus. It's like my heart an' brain in one, or somethin'. Or soul? Or all three? I ain't really sure.

[Not that this is probably doing much to dissuade this guy (girl? voice is low but) that he's someone's pet creation just running around. A thought finally seems to occur to him, and he lifts his gaze.]

Oh! Also sorry, I ain't normally lookin' like this. This only day uh... yo, brotha, what day is it!

[The man who just got asked looks shocked and desperately like he'd rather be anywhere else than getting asked anything but jello boy, but he will timidly answer the fourteenth before scurrying off. Beat pauses a little as he does the mental math.]

Day... 7, of bein' a slime. Huh, been a week already. Time flies.

[Mirabel gives a little huff, crossing her arms. Her relationship with her sister is better by far now, but of all the things she could've turned into...!]

I'm saying I don't wanna be a plant.

[Which brings her attention to Isabela's own arms, the scratching, and the scales glistening in the light. Her eyebrows raise in concern.]

What's... going on with you?

Edited 2022-01-15 01:27 (UTC)

I think there's a misunderstanding, I'm not - I mean, I'm human!

[The man continues his babbling. "She's clearly one of them, and so are you!" He thrusts the pitchfork forward at both of them, and Mirabel yelps as someone is going to get hurt-]

[There is a man pacing the gravestones.

He's not especially distinctive: his clothes were drab even before he got covered in dirt, and he's not of exceptional size one way or the other. Not too tall, not too short—not a slob, but not fastidiously kept, either. The only thing that marks him out as vaguely distinctive is a face full of pockmarked scars, half-hidden by scrubby facial hair. He pauses every few steps to shake more grime out of his hair, but other than that, he's dead set on his mission of...well.]

...Fuck this. Fuuuck this. Out of all the goddamn places to—do they think this is some kind of a fucking joke? Does it seem fucking funny? Don't even recognize the...

[He continues in this way indefinitely, stalking among the tombstones with an aura so murderous that he seems to blame the dead themselves for his troubles.]

ii;

[Vicquemare is not one to settle, not ever, but he's as settled as he's going to get. He hasn't keeled over of a heart attack yet, which is an optimistic occasion in and of itself considering how precariously his health teeters most of the time. Not that he seems especially concerned with his health at the moment: he's worked his way through four or five cigarettes over the course of poring over a pamphlet in a dingy downtown restaurant. He hasn't even changed his clothes.

While he was offered a wide selection of information and guides on what to expect when you're expecting to be transformed into a horrible monster, he honed in on just one subject: The Law. Ryslig Law, to be precise. He's never heard of Ryslig, but there's plenty of places he's never heard of. Much to his chagrin, nothing in the pamphlet indicates that Ryslig Law is anything he's familiar with. There's no citizen militia, little accountability, and a frankly lax take on The Law as he understands it. He's not upset, just confused. Unfortunately, he's kind of always upset as a base state, no matter what he's feeling at the moment.]

Tell me something—does this make a lick of fucking sense to you?

[He keeps trying to complain to other patrons, but they all sort of avoid the man in the filthy suit with a halogen patch on the back. That's fine. It seems like he's mostly complaining to hear himself complain, as it is.]

iii; wildcard

[ any other ideas? hit me with it! if you want to plan something else feel free to nab me at Togamint ]

Your soul...

[Interesting. It doesn't look like any soul he's used to seeing. A dull, manmade object as opposed to a brilliant surge of colored aether. However, none of this is anything like what he's used to seeing. It's a bit unnerving, but fascinating all the same. It's hard to decipher what this concept is saying, and it seems difficult for it to parse Hythlodaeus' speech, as well. Perhaps he should try to speak more plainly.]

A moment, if you would. You mean to say that this is not your original form?

[Concern blooms across his face. If someone in this place had the ability to do this to another, they were certainly breaking many codes of conduct by doing so.]

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

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TDM: JANUARY/FEBRUARY

muriel | the arcana

Mirabel Madrigal | Encanto

Hythlodaeus / Final Fantasy XIV

i

ii

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Faramir | Lord of the Rings

Wakaba | Nogi Wakaba is a Hero

denial

two

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2

1

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i believe i used roman numerals you are being inconsistent

Little Mermaid | Mary Skelter 2

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oh sorry sorry. two.

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4

Two

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jean vicquemare • disco elysium

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