TDM: OCTOBER/NOVEMBER

[ryslighelpers]

TDM: OCTOBER/NOVEMBER

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

(CW: Ritualistic sacrifice, burning)

Someone laughs in the distance. A high-pitched, shrieking cackle. It's followed by a deep boom, excited calls and shouts. 'Someone is having a party', you think, as you are pulled from the thick marsh of your slumber, onto the more solid footing of harsh, cold reality. Because you are cold. You lie on hard soil, pebbles and twigs pricking and poking at your body. As you sit up to survey your surroundings, you realize you've come to in the woods. It must be night, dark as it is, but you can't see the moon, nor the stars. All of that is covered by dark clouds, which hang high above the barren tree tops and swaying, empty branches. All the leaves have already fallen to the ground, and they look almost… decayed, a mixture of black and orange that's been eaten away at by the elements. You can barely see them, for as murky as the sky is, the surface is not much better. It's as if you're sitting in a shallow pond of thick fog, the substance swirling and dancing all around you. It clings to your arms, which are already covered with goosebumps as it is.

Is there a pleasant whisper in your ear, welcoming you to Her favorite woods? … No, that must be your imagination, for there are other things to occupy the senses.

In the distance, you still hear it: that cacophony of assorted voices. And… music? Yes, several instruments are playing. Odd as it is, the tune is not very cheerful. It feels melancholy, full of low string reverberations. And a distinct scent wafts by on the breeze. Crisp cedarwood and smoky embers- a campfire? You turn your head towards the source and see the flickering glow, half obscured by the trees and branches which stand between you and it. That must be where the party is. Perhaps those people can help you, for you have no way of knowing where you are, how you awoke here or why. And if you were not human before, you may even struggle with your new body as you stumble to your aching feet and move your tired legs.

Within minutes, you push through the last bit of scratchy underbrush, and the full sight of the celebration meets your eyes. What you believed to be a mere campfire is a vast bonfire, set up in the middle of a clearing. A group of nine people are positioned around it, bobbing and weaving in tune with the music. The band consists of four members, for a total of thirteen. They strike you as otherworldly at first, dressed as they are in long, flowing garbs and curious black masks. You squint against the light of the fire as you try to make out the details. The masks all appear to be styled after the same animal, as they hold a long, gnarled muzzle. A crown of branches is set upon each partygoer's head, giving off the impression of antlers. The sleeves of their robes appear stained. Unease begins to settle within you. You dare not disturb them, but something has stuck your feet to the ground, be it curiosity or fear.

Why does the fire smell so odd? It isn't just wood that's burning, is it? What are those charred shapes, obscured by the towering flames?

Someone raises a hand, and the partygoers all begin to speak in unison. They are praying. Praying for a harvest bountiful enough to get them through the upcoming winter, praying for the soil to recover, praying for humanity's triumph, for nature, for life, for night. Two of them walk off, into the bushes on the other side of the clearing. When they return, they're carrying something in-between them. Large and bulky, wrapped in a sheet. Or a burial shroud? They must be very determined to keep it hidden within the fabric, for thick ropes are wound all around it. You think you see it; the impression of a head, of shoulders and arms wrapped around a chest, of legs ending in feet.

And if you strain your ears, you hear muffled screaming coming from within the 'package'.

You see them approach the fire and the word "sacrifice" wafts through the air. Perhaps you gasp, perhaps something snaps beneath your feet as you take a step- forward or back- or perhaps… Perhaps you were simply unlucky, for the attention of the celebration shifts and now all thirteen sets of eyes are upon you. The music halts and the only sound to be heard is the crackling of the fire. The fog is still coiling around your legs, and you hear the whisper again.

"What will you do?" She asks you, as the sacrifice is set down on the ground near the fire. "It's you or them. But you… You are far more important. You deserve to live. You are the decider of their fate. You, my child, are the one they ought to bow their heads and direct their fearful prayers to."

The partygoers each take up arms, from swords to torches to hunting knives. They begin their approach and their intent is clear. You, however… You may just have the advantage if you're skilled, for a short distance away lies a weapon all for your own. A bow and arrow, perhaps, or a sling, or a gun. Whatever you might feel comfortable using, should you choose fight over flight.

And there is someone by your side. Someone who, like you, was drawn into the woods tonight and bore witness to these events. A monster to be, perhaps, or someone already long since equipped with claws, fangs, supernatural powers and so much more.

SCENARIO TWO

You've stumbled your way into a city, and you're promptly besieged by the overwhelming sights and sounds. 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 lost expression and your clothes- so different from their own- 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. A hefty laptop may be handed to you, with words of a ‘network’ used for communication. Wonder what that’s about? Then there’s the very confusing pamphlet stuffed within: "What To Expect When You're Expecting (To Turn Into A Monster)”. They may direct you to an organisation known as the Lighthouse, their members most prominently found at the 38-8 apartments and the Lighthouse Church. Or perhaps, if you're injured, they'll refer you to the Crowe Clinic instead. Unfortunately, the directions you're given are so very complicated that you lose your way in the streets after two left turns, a right and a left at the soup kitchen.

Take care when asking for more help. 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

Now that you've found a moment of peace, you open up the mysterious device that's been handed to you. Perhaps you'll recognize it as some sort of laptop, albeit an old and clunky one. Or perhaps you'll be astounded by this curious feat of technology, which is unlike anything you've ever seen before. Regardless, the moment the lid is propped open to reveal the screen and the keyboard within, you gain your first glimpse of the network.

Perhaps you'll want to choose a username and write your very first message, posing the pressing question that's on your mind at this very moment. The lettered buttons click and clack awkwardly beneath your fingertips as you type.

However, you may instead want to respond to today's most popular message.

WELCOME TO RSDOS. PRESS F1 TO COMPOSE POST. *** TODAY’S TOP POST *** 018.07.154.55 <JUSTSOMEGUY> I want to go home. Please. It's been so long. I miss my family. I miss my life. I'm so tired of killing. Is this punishment? What have we done to deserve this?

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

Tony Stark | MCU

[ironypoisoned]

SCENARIO ONE

[ Where…? ] Nebula?! [ Tony calls into the darkness of the forest. There’s no answer. He thinks, briefly, that this must be a dream. He realizes, no, the oxygen ran out and this is his brain cooking something weird up as it took its last breath.

But he staggers forward, because what else was he supposed to do? Sit there? Tch. No thanks. Tony makes his way towards the noise, the sounds of the party, only to be horrified, enraged, when realizing what was happening. This might all be in his head, but hell no, he’s not going down without a fight. That voice in the fog was right.

Maybe, just maybe, if he fights them, he can go home.

Definitely an oxygen deprivation thought.

A flash of red metal catches the corner of Tony’s eye; the gauntlet of one of the early Iron Man models. The Mark V, maybe, if Tony was lucky. He had his goal, now he just needed a distraction. ]

Hey, you! [ Luckily, someone else wants to ruin this shindig. ] Slow those guys down for me, will ya?

SCENARIO THREE

< IAMIRONMAN > Hi, new here. Just curious, glancin’ at a few posts.

Is this Hell?

Am I dead?

Between the- What is this, a Compaq Armada? And the general oppressive misery. Oh yeah and the literal fucking monsters everywhere.

I just gotta assume this is hell.

WILDCARD

[ Hit me with anything, or ping me at epigrammatic for a custom starter. ]

3 - <P.B.P>

[heyunderoos]

[This can't be Tony.... can it? Who else would use that username. Or have those speech patterns.]

Mr. Stark...?

I can promise you, this isn't hell. It's a world that takes people from other worlds, its a multiversal nightmare, but a manageable one.

Scenario three; < samsa >

[anthropophagite]

No, it's not hell. Some people might say it's how hell feels like, however.

Monsters are a normal occurrence if you are brought.

3 -- un: STH

[endlesspastability]

oh i love that song!!! DUN DUN DUN-DUN-DUN. DUNANANANANUH NAH NAH NUH.


oh questions right. i have answers! in order

maybe.

also maybe.

1!

[blackfishgrunt]

The forest, the clear sky, the lack of all the city noises still had Soq feeling giddy. Nature. Truly, real, unowned nature that wasn't ice or the sea. It was like being a feral thing and they wondered if this was how Kaev felt with Liam, if it was like this to be bonded to some wild beast.

A bunch of madmen would not bring that mood down so easily, already ready for a fight just to use this rush, keep the adrenaline going. They just hadn't weighted all the options yet, glanced over at the man – older, looked well-off, entirely insufficient clothing if this were Qaanaaq. Shrugs and picks up a good knife lying around, along with a bunch of rocks. Distraction they can do.

Soq steps ahead, weighting the stone. “Oy, fuckers! Leave that!” Calling the attention, voice no more betraying what gender they might fit into than their looks. Which, for all it was annoying, was good to startle people. And then of course they started throwing rocks with precision, picking new ones up on the go, knife tucked away should any of them dare to come closer.

Lucille Sharpe | Crimson Peak

[blackmothwings]

A. Arrival

I've been here before.

[Lucille observes morosely, staring out at bustling streets, modern vehicles, and what seems like a thousand brilliant lights, running on electricity. She's never cared for modernity, preferring to wrap herself in the familiar. The known. This modern world fills her with anxiety and takes away from her all feelings of control and agency. She hates it. She hates it so very much. Although she presents herself in a stoic, emotionless manner, her heart beats furiously in her chest, and the discomfort that she feels is almost dizzying.]

Tell me. [She says to anyone passing by; her gaze is unblinking, and her pale lips form a tight, thin line. But someone especially observant might notice a slight tremor in her voice. She most certainly notices it, and she silently chastises herself for it.]

Are we to become the same creature we had been during our first stay here? Or should I prepare myself for a surprise?

[She would much rather become what she already knows, after all. Lucille loathes surprises.]

B. Network [CW: Death/suicidal ideation, depression]


< BlackMoths > has posted a message:

It is cruelty, to steal someone from the peaceful embrace of death, when it is all that they desire. And it is cruelty to continue to steal that peace, to force someone to awaken again and again, to face the cruel brightness of the day.

What do you do when there is no longer any reason to exist? When everything and everyone you've loved has slipped from your grasp, and you're left with nothing but the heaviness of grief burrowed in your chest, and a sense of yearning that's so strong that it could drive one mad...

What can you possibly do but lock yourself away, and act as though death has taken you despite the breaths that you still draw?

Tell me, monsters of Ryslig? What is the point? How can one truly live when their life no longer means anything?

B <docholliday>

[alexandercityborn]

When I first got here my whole family had been wiped out. I was pulled from the jaws of somethin awful, but as much as that's true, I felt denied... Well, being with them. Resting.

Sometimes... You gotta make yourself go out of bad reasons. Spite. An urge to spit in the face of what keeps pulling you back. Maybe someday you'll get there and get to do so. Or... At the very least, get back to what you wanted.

A

[elpenitente]

[If the world around them is too modern, then the man next to her is positively archaic as his helmeted head turns towards her. A misplaced knight of some kind. After a moment there is a piece of charcoal pulled from a pouch at his waist, and something scribbled on the back of a pamphlet. The writing is shaky and a little smudged, but legible when offered to her.]

You know where we are? Tell me, please.

[For this land far surpasses the mechanisms he's seen in Jondo, or even the small bastion of humanity that is Albero. He doesn't know what to make of it at all. The absence of his sword makes him feel even more lost.]

A

[pinkeverything]

[Barbie is sitting on a bench near by trying to figure out what to do when she spots the woman. She stands in stark contrast to Barbie, dark and serious looking. But she can see one thing they have in common: they're both nervous.]

[She comes closer, overhearing the question Lucille is asking. She steps up beside her, trying to give a commiserating smile.]

Uh, hi there! I'm Barbie. I uh... was just wondering... do you know where we are?

Norman Bates| Psycho

[bates_motel]

(Note/Heads-Up: Norman has DID but has gotten assistance and trying to do better. He still worries his "Mother" personality may come through and this could be a topic in his character)

a. Fire in the Woods

[Norman stumbles through the woods. He wonders where he is and why he isn't home at the motel. Mother will miss him...Well, he doesn't have time to dwell on mother. She's gone, like the doctors told him. A flicker of fire light catches his attention and brings him back to the current moment.]
[He saw people chanting and having some sort of party? That's what he guessed this was. A "package" was brought out. It was squirming and... crying? Oh no! A person as in it! Why was there a person in the package!?]
[Norman tried to say something but couldn't find the words. He stammered and his mouth opened and closed several times.]
['It's up to you, Norman. You or them. Your choice..' Norman heard this voice in his mind. He thought it was...]

Mother?

[He asked aloud. He hadn't heard mother since...]
['No, not mother. Now do what you must.' His eyes wandered to the ground behind all the people. A glint on the ground. He darts toward it and dives to the ground. When he rises up, he was holding a large, silver knife out to the group. The only weapon he knew how to use. Well, a part of him did, anyway. A part he tried to keep buried.]

b. Into the City
(TW: For a mentioning of a psych. ward.)

[Norman wasn't sure how he wandered into town after the ordeal in the woods. He knew he had memory blackouts when...when mother would take control but she hadn't stepped in since he got back from the psych. ward. He didn't think he did anything but...Well, no time to dwell on that now.]
[He made his way through a crowd of people. They handed him a pamphlet titled: What to Do When You're Turning Into a Monster. Norman knew the feeling. There were times he felt monstrous but he tried to give himself some slack. Many people had their own mental health struggles and he wouldn't be near as harsh to them. Why should he torture himself?]
[Along with the pamphlet, the people gave him clothes, food and water. He was thankful for this since he didn't have any belongings on him or a clue where he was and how far the Bates Motel, his home, was from here.]

c. Taking a Break

[Norman sat by a pond in the park to watch the birds while he ate his sandwich. As he ate and watched the crows peck the ground, his eyes wander to the laptop. He never really used one before but he figured he should see what's on this one and maybe a clue as to why he has it.]

WELCOME TO RSDOS.
PRESS F1 TO COMPOSE POST.

[Norman glanced down at the keyboard. It took him a few moments but he found the F1 key and tapped it with his finger.]

Welcome! Please type a username

[Norman typed in his name: "Norman Bates" At least, he though he did]

Welcome 'NATURAL_BATS"

Close enough

[Norman mumbles to himself and hits the spacebar to continue]

*** TODAY’S TOP POST ***

018.07.154.55 I want to go home. Please. It's been so long. I miss my family. I miss my life. I'm so tired of killing.

Is this punishment? What have we done to deserve this?

[Norman was taken aback by this. He too carried guilt from what he did as his mother and things he did without her help. Like killing his mother as a young boy...]

Natural_Bats: It sounds to me like you are tired. Maybe just...Stop killing. Make an effort to do better and do it. I had to and did. I think you can to. Then, maybe, you can go back to you wife and kids and everyone you miss. We all go a little mad sometimes, you just have to be able to bring yourself back.

d. Norman Bunny?

[It started with his teeth falling out. The front two were slightly longer and all were sharp. His ears became more sensitive and longer, He grew grey claws on his hands and feet and black, irredesent, black fur sprouted all over his body. His legs bowed and became that of a rabbit's body and a puffy, cotton-tail to complete this. He looked like some rodent-human hybrid and it was...weird to him to say the least. The pamphlet mentioned this to be a Pooka? Whatever that meant.]

['Look at you! Nasty vermin. You're going to shed all over the place and make this place more of a pig's sty!']

Shut up, Mother.

[He mumbled to himself. He really didn't have the energy for his mother right now and her nagging would have to wait.]

Sherlock Holmes | BBC Sherlock

[mightjustbehuman]

A. Scenario One

[Ridiculous.

Not only has he somehow woken up in the middle of nowhere--not an impossible situation, though improbable, his three working theories include Mycroft being involved in all of them--but he's stumbled upon some kind of gruesome cult sacrifice.

...actually, this is probably the best day he's had in weeks.

(He makes a note to find a way to thank Mycroft later for the gift, without actually, you know, outright thanking him.)

He hears the strange voice and dismisses it instantly--speakers in the trees, perhaps, or his own mind digging itself out of the dredges of sleep, but it seems he is going to have company shortly. There is a gun lying on a boulder a few feet away and...odd, and convenient, and probably Mycroft-related.

He picks it up, checking the clip, and turns to his new and quite sudden companion.]

This place is quite welcoming.

B. Scenario Three

[From what little he's learned about this place, and assuming this isn't some elaborate game orchestrated by his brother with a special-effects budget that's going to bankrupt the country, he finds he might actually not be bored here. Of course, he certainly isn't thinking about missing certain...important people. Still, he's got quite a few questions.

While he could hide his identity, there is the off-chance someone from his 'world' (such as they are calling coming from different dimensions and universes, that) here, and for good or ill, he welcomes it.]

< S. Holmes >

Does monster killing count as murder here? Are they prosecuted in any way if a human being is killed for food?

C. <docholliday>

[alexandercityborn]

oh. no.

human laws ain't really... somethin' we worry about.

<GREATFLOOD>

[noasark]

Variable, and no, and if you're considering a vigilante scheme- don't.

There's a very good reason we haven't all resorted to trading victims here and the reason is that while each of us return from the dead, we stand a chance of doing it without all of our memories.

Care to risk forgetting why you had the moral grounds to try monster prosecution? That's a fantastic way to pull it off. Better to at least split the damage and control your targets among the human population than risk becoming something that would happily slaughter with reckless abandon, wouldn't you say?

A. oh my god how did i MISS this i hope i'm not too late

[imajonary]

You think so?

[ The other man moves out of the shadows, revealing that he's - not quite human, not anymore. Tall, and a strapping chap to begin with, he's now been outfitted with reedy plants instead of hair, and a tail of the same make. His ears are equine, sitting atop his head, and there's a pair of fish fins flapping where human ears would be. Look down, and you'll find a pair of sturdy hooves instead of feet, a mix of hair and reeds Clydesdale-feathered around them.

He also, completely ruining any intimidating figure he might otherwise cut, has a swirly pink and blue unicorn horn smack dab in the middle of his forehead. ]

Personally, I'd say a few of these folks have been given too warm a welcome.

Leon S. Kennedy | Resident Evil 4 (Remake)

[nothingbadeverhappensto]

1. Nobody fears the heights ( cw: gun violence, NPC death, brief reference to parasitism )

[ Yeah, yeah, bunch of cultists gathered around a pyre, weird voice in his head, human sacrifice. Second verse, same as the first. When's bingo?

Leon snatches the gun off the ground without even thinking about it, checking the magazine almost without having to look, the weight of it familiar in his hand. He breathes in, levels it at one of the cultists' heads, and fires, dropping them in a single shot. Exhales. Takes aim again, slowly backing up to give himself some space as they approach. ]

None of you had better explode into tentacles today, I swear. [ He's so tired. Also, this gun only holds 18 bullets and there's thirteen of them. Even if he doesn't miss a single shot, that may not be enough if it turns out any of these people are in the advanced stages of infestation. ]

2. You all just fear the fall

Guess we're not in Kansas anymore. [ Leon mutters to himself under his breath, allowing himself the delusion that no one else here has run that reference into the ground already. He's got a stack of pamphlets, an empty pistol, and absolutely no idea where he is. Huffing, he settles on a park bench and squints at an infographic outlining all the different feeding methods that the monsters here have at their disposal.

It takes him a moment to realize that the advice on the poster seems to be aimed at the monsters. His brows furrow, lip curling slightly in disgust as he skims over a section on helpful tips for merfolk looking to drown their prey, only to find the next is ways to prepare human meat for - ]

What's a waldgeist?

[ Not the biggest question he has right now, but the one that comes out of his mouth nonetheless. ]

4. Go to the edge sometime and prove your body wrong ( cw: body horror, monster transformation-related death )

[ By now Leon's had the situation explained to him, but that doesn't mean it's fully sunk in. After all, he's made it through disaster after disaster without turning into a fucked up monster, and the silver lining to that hefty dose of survivor's guilt is at least some subconscious certainty that it's not going to happen to him any time soon. But everyone's luck runs out eventually, and here he is, doubled over on the pavement of some alleyway and clutching at his chest, his breath quick and uneven. He feels like his ribcage is too small to contain his hammering heart, beating desperately against its confines, faster and faster until it

stops

and then nothing happens. Not in the sense that he stops moving, but... he's just fine. Shaken, trembling, extremely rattled, but he's alive? Sort of? He pushes himself up on unsteady arms, watching as the color starts to slowly drain from his skin. ]

Oh, what the fuck.

1!!

[pinkeverything]

[Barbie had barely stumbled out into the clearing when the first shot sounds. She catches the flash of the muzzle, the wet thump of the person hitting the ground. When he fires again, she yelps from behind him and then claps her hands over her mouth.]

What is happening?? [it's hard to say if she means to ask the man or herself that. It comes out muffled behind her hands.]

Barbie | Barbie 2023

[pinkeverything]

I. Come on Barbie, Let’s Go Party

A.
[Barbie could almost pretend she was in her nice, safe bed in her nice, safe dreamhouse for a moment. Then the little pains began to seep in. She opened her eyes– it was darker than she had ever seen a place be. She slowly sat up, sputtering slightly as a tangle of her normally perfect hair got stuck in her face. She ached in ways she didn’t think were possible– ways that probably weren’t possible for her until recently. Was this the real world? Had she made it?]

[She could hear things in the distance–music and laughter. Maybe Ken had found a beach? That would be surprisingly helpful of him. Something is off though… The music sounds wrong. The laughter is too sharp, too mean. A sharp pang of fear stabs through her, and for the first time Barbie becomes aware of the rapid beating of her heart. She has a heart now?]

[Barbie bolts to her feet, shaking her hands back and forth, looking around frantically. She’s desperately hoping there’s someone around to help, or at the very least so she doesn’t have to go alone.]

B.
[Barbie had been looking for directions when she stepped into the clearing. This was probably not the crowd for her to be asking directions from. She watched in silent terror as the crowd prayed, until her eyes fell to the people carrying the “package.” As they approached the fire, the muffled sound of screams reached her on the wind. She clamped her hands over her mouth and backed away, hoping to wordlessly slip back into the woods and run as fast as her achy legs would carry her.]

[That would have worked out great, had she not tripped over a rock. She screamed as she fell, hitting the ground hard. Barbie wanted to be more upset about how much it hurt, but she realized that the sound of prayer and music had stopped. The people are watching her. They look angrier than she has ever seen anyone look. She scrambles up onto her feet. The party goers are approaching her, holding a lot of– frankly– very unsafe looking items. She opens her mouth to speak but all that comes out is a shriek as she turns and runs into the woods.]

II. Just Take Me Home

[Barbie, by some miracle, made it into the city. She’s cold and damp, mud streaked on her dress and sticks and leaves stuck in her hair. She lost one of her shoes in her rush out of the woods. She almost gets hit by a car as she crosses toward the shops, the car swerving and honking at her as she yelps and runs the rest of the way across. She takes a deep breath–shaking her head and trying to calm down. Surely, there’s someone who can help her.]

Um, excuse me? If you could– hello? Anyone?

[People are ignoring her, passing with barely a glance. She’s never felt so invisible.]

ii!

[jumpie]

[ oh, no! oh dear! a pretty lady, lost in the fray? someone happens to see her, notice her and the hardship immediately. oh, she seems a mess. and lost. a kelpie boy in sportswear and a sports jersey bounds up to her—

Um!

[ and thus the little foal boy begins to turn beet red down to the neck, with an increase in his silence but still staring up at her, slack jawed—

she’s so hot i forgot what i was going to say!!! ]

U-um—!!

Ruby Gloom | Ruby Gloom

[bbbrightside]

[Scenario One]
[Already, things are amiss as Ruby sits up in the gloom of this gnarled, shriveled forest. That's not the strange part, oh no, these dead trees - and the overburdened cloud cover - all of that feels like home. But... why would she spend a night in the woods all on her own? With not even a picnic basket or campfire? And no friends for company? That just didn't make sense.

She hears the commotion through the underbrush, however. Pushing herself to her feet, and minding the scrapes and bruises across her pale skin, she makes her way towards it. Maybe it was her friends. Perhaps she'd simply gotten lost and took a tumble.

Instead, she peeks out through the trees to discover a party she doesn't recognize. Which... could be fine! Everyone has their own way to celebrate! Especially in fascinating costumes and odd dance moves. She's almost excited again, preparing to step out and introduce herself.

But then they bring out a sack, heavily bound and yet... still struggling. Feet poke out, kicking and fighting like its life depended on... oh.

Foolishly, she gasps, and eyeless masks turn to spot the redheaded girl amongst the trees. That's enough for Ruby. She turns, and she runs.

Branches whip her face, scratch her arms, and the sounds of feet behind her push her on. She doesn't know where she's going, unfortunately, which means it's time for the universe to throw her another trial; in the form of a raised tree root she couldn't have spotted in the dark. Her foot hooks it, and she goes tumbling-

Right into you.]

[Scenario Two]
[Eventually free from that nightmare of an adventure, Ruby finds herself onto one that's entirely new: the city of Bavan.

Such tall buildings! So may people! It's amazing. It's... it's disorienting. A whirlwind of emotions that strike the fatigued girl just as the adrenaline high of rushing through the forest wore off.

She's lucky enough to meet a friendly passerby who takes pity on the lost redhead. She's got a new scarf now, and some food (how generous!) and a pamphlet directing her towards some "lighthouse"? Not too much to go by, but just as she tries to ask for more, the stranger is gone. Try as she might, no one else even wants to look Ruby in the eye.]

Excuse me, I - [They push past, an apologetic nod.] I'm just trying to find a lighthouse? [No reply from this one either.] Or - or maybe you could direct me to the nearest train to Gloomsville? [No one bites. Worrying, frustrating.] Please, just a moment of your - Ugh!

[Scenario Three]

< diehappy > has posted a message:

Don't suppose anyone wants to talk about something a little more lighthearted?
Maybe how their day was going? Or a favorite joke?
Just a minor suggestion.

3 <creatio_ex_nihilo>

[redtapes]

Ok.

Knock Knock.

Sir Crocodile | One Piece

[captainhookish]

[ Scenario One ]

Crocodile didn't like unexpected surprises. He didn't like things that disrupted carefully laid plans in general, so you could imagine how he felt waking up on some damp, dark forest floor.

Needless to say, the tall pirate picked himself up and looked around. This was nowhere he recognized, and it was certainly not a place he wanted to be. This was certainly that fool Buggy's fault, he decided. Though with all this fog, he almost suspected Moria too, but that involved less incompetence (but not much).

That was when he heard the voices. Naturally, he chose to head towards signs of civilization. But then a voice began creeping into his ear, and he saw what was occurring: the signs of a ritual sacrifice.

Not my problem, Crocodile said to himself. Not what I want to associate with, either—

Then he heard the voice. Her voice. Questioning him. Compelling him. And in his mind, he felt memories resurfacing.

A giant of a man, with a white mustache, stabbed by his own comrade.

That same man, standing dead, but on his feet, not a wound to be found on his back.

Someone much younger, struggling desperately to reach someone important to him.

"Tch," is what Crocodile said, as he saw all those eyes on him. Somehow, he instinctively knew his Devil Fruit Powers had left him; so he reached for a weapon, a cutlass, and threw himself into the fray.

Damn you, Straw Hat. Whitebeard. But maybe I can turn this to my advantage.

This would not be easy...but they would know the fury of a warlord this day.

Scenario Four

The changes had come to Crocodile finally. And he had proven to be a truly ferocious-looking monster: a towering crocodilian merman with powerful jaws, armored scutes, and a physique to match it all.

There was just one problem.

It was raining.

Moisture felt wrong to Crocodile on a good day. It was a consequence of his Devil Fruit. But he no longer had the power of the Sand Sand Fruit, and moisture was necessary for his survival. That didn't change the fact that after so long it felt like anathema to him, even with a mer's need for water. The way it ran down his scales, soaked into his pores...it made his skin crawl, and reminded him of ignoble defeats.

That wasn't the worst part, however. His lower body had turned into a tail, and it was all Crocodile could do to push himself up out of the growing puddle that had formed in the crater made by the impact of his fall. He was as large a Merman as he was a human, after all.

Oh great, witnesses to this indignity. Crocodile could only growl, though he no longer had the lips to sneer.

"What are you looking at?" he snapped. "Are you going to gawk or help me?"

Scenario 4

[zetsuboy]

“Gawk, obviously,” says the grinning boy in the strange attire standing nearby.

“You think I could lift a huge oaf like you with this weak little human body?” He holds up his right arm and flexes it before breaking into a laugh. He hadn’t had the privilege(?) of experiencing transformation yet and wasn’t exactly thrilled at being a human.

laios touden | dungeon meshi

[teratovore]

i. monster hunt

[It's hard to miss the man standing in full plate armor, puzzled and slightly aghast at the display before him. Dried twigs and dead leaves are caught in the chinks in his armor. He's not in the dungeon anymore. He's not a monster anymore, to his great disappointment. But right now, there are more important things at hand than dealing with the loss of his monstrosity.

As the sacrifice is brought forth, he instinctively takes a step back, his face twisted into a perturbed expression.]

Huh?! Hey, I--I don't know if I'm the one to accept this kind of responsibility--

[Clearly, these people aren't in the mood to negotiate. It's either this innocent person gets sacrificed, or fight. And, though he hardly understands the context of the situation he's just gotten dropped into, what kind of an adventurer would he be if he didn't at least try to save someone?

The glint of a rusted sword in the grass catches his attention. Swiftly, he scoops it up and swings it forward to threaten the strange figures.]

Put that person down, NOW!

ii. which monster type are YOU? (23 unique results!)

[Laios has peeled off and stored his armor by the time he's gotten to grips with this new world, and immediately buried himself in as much monster research as possible. This is exactly the subject he's interested in, and here, he can talk to the monsters directly to ask them about their experiences! Currently, he can be found pouring over a bunch of trashy-looking pamphlets of varying quality information. Occasionally, he'll call out a question to nobody in particular.]

Is there really no way to chose what kind of monster you'll become?

[Or:]

I wonder if Mana will let me be a combination of multiple monsters...how much would that cost?

iii. network post

un: < monsterlover26 >
How do other monsters taste?

As a flesh-eater, it's been an interesting experience observing my taste palette shift over the months. Meat that initially tasted gamey and otherwise unappetizing has developed an almost 'sweeter' flavor. Meanwhile, things like pastries and sweets have lost their appeal. But this also makes me wonder about the 'taste' of souls and energy. Is it sweet? Bitter? Something else entirely?

[There's a bit of a break between the former post and the one that follows it.]

I also haven't had the opportunity to try any sort of monster flesh, so I wonder if that has any difference in flavor as opposed to human flesh. Even monsters of the same species probably have a lot of inherent differences based on whatever animal species they share visual similarity to. If anyone can share their experiences with eating other monsters, I'd like to know what it was like.

:)

iv. wildcard

[Got another idea? Plot with me @ wolfnoir]

i

[swordarc]

Need a hand?

[The speaker is a 5'2'' fifteen year old who looks like he's dressed more for a fancy event than for a fight with cultists, holding a sword that's just as rusty as the one Laios has. And yet, there's a look of focus on his face, as if he's ready to fight.

(He is. He wouldn't be an Arclight if he weren't ready to throw down.)

In any case, he's got a grip on that sword, sizing up the cultists as he stands his ground.]

III | Yu-Gi-Oh Zexal | still in voicetesting mode but not opposed to finding a game for this guy

[swordarc]

i. Who Let This Kid Have a Sword- (CW: Ritual sacrifice via fire)

[III is, understandably, shocked when he stumbles on the human sacrifice ritual in the woods somewhere. He stumbles back, breaks a stick under his boot, is spotted. And by the looks of him, with his pink hair, short height, and fancy outfit, you'd think he's easy pickings.

But then he spots a sword on the ground and snatches it up, taking a fighting stance as the cultists approach.]

You know, it seems a bit overkill to sacrifice that many people. [He glances at the fire and the ominous shapes within, holding his ground.

(Is he smiling? He is, a sort of smug confidence covering up his confusion and horror at what he's just stumbled into.)

In any case, it looks like he's ready to fight, but what about you? Do you let this fifteen year old take on the cultists alone, or help him out?]

ii. Oh Good, He Found a Town

[Eventually, III finds a town. He's injured, dirty, still keeps a hold of that sword, which he assumes is the reason why the locals seem so odd when he tries to talk to them.

Then he gets a hold of the pamphlets and leafs through them, a frown settling in on his face as he takes in the info.]

...This is a joke, right? [This seems like an awfully weird joke!

(III really hopes this is a joke, all this stuff about getting pulled into another world and having your form changed is sounding way too similar to what happened to his dad.)]

iii. Network

[un: historychannelfan]

You aren't alone on that. I have a family I miss too.

I'd do anything to see them again.

iii <diehappy>

[bbbrightside]

I miss my family too. :(
If I don't see them soon, I don't now what I'll do.

Marc Spector | MCU (Moon Knight)

[spktr]

(CW: mild mentions of Hollywood D.I.D. in prompts 1+2.)

SCENARIO ONE;
[He’s still dead, isn’t he? Marc is hard pressed to believe otherwise at the moment, hidden in the trees as he watches the horrific scene ahead. If this is a test of his own making then he’s more fucked than he realized, but that also means there’s nothing to actually worry about… right? This isn’t real? It’s the only logical answer that makes sense to him when the world around him is so dreamlike yet vivid, and he pushes the thought of this being real far, far to the recesses of his mind, refusing to accept it. For now, anyway. That doesn’t last too long.

Maybe the whispering voice in his head should concern him more than it does too but that’s something to unpack after dealing with whatever the hell this ritual bullshit is. It’s manipulative and eerily familiar, even if Marc rejects the idea of his life being worth more than whoever the unlucky bastard labeled ‘sacrifice’ is. For a stupid, reckless moment, he considers running out into the scene without a care just to prove this isn’t real, but then fate decides to give away his hiding spot anyway, and he’s left standing, staring at this group of people clearly not worried about murder. Great.]

God damn it… wake up already. [Spoken out loud to himself as his eyes dart over the scene ahead, finally noticing the row of shiny throwing knives conveniently laid out nearby. He doesn’t hesitate to lunge for them the moment one of the party-goers takes a step closer, and if there’s any pause from him it’s only because Marc is still convinced this isn’t real - none of this is. He’ll wake up any minute now, see.

The moment one of them refuses to back off though he'll snap, throwing the knives with perfect aim to incapacitate rather than kill - for now - one knife landing into one member’s shoulder cleanly.]

That’s the only warning shot I’m giving - back off.

[He is so caught up in what he thinks is an existential crisis he doesn’t even realize he’s not alone.]


SCENARIO TWO;
[The bustling city is a welcome sight after the shit he just witnessed in the woods, though there is still something eerily disturbing about this place, and the longer he’s here the less he’s convinced this is all in his head after all.

As Marc wanders through the streets, the pamphlet he was handed already a crumpled mess in one fist, he keeps his eyes sharp on the people going about their day. Some people outright ignore him and he prefers it that way, because anyone who does try to offer some empathy or help is met with a scowl and a sharp warning to leave him be, and the ones who glare at him in return only raise his paranoia. This is just… too much, and worst of all, he feels very alone. His mind is silent and that’s cause for concern. Marc is not handling this well at all and it shows.

He’s given up on trying to “wake up” Steven long ago after many failed attempts, now left wandering these strange streets on his own, so tense he looks like he’s ready to bolt any minute, though he wouldn’t know where to begin to run. At some point, he can be found stopping and staring at himself in various reflective windows of shops and other buildings, muttering to himself or looking on the edge of panic, before he sucks it up and keeps walking. He'll keep glancing nervously over to just about every line of windows he stalks past though, not knowing where the hell he's going.

If you don't run into him wandering like a lost soul, Marc can eventually be found trying to use the one piece of technology he has available here, finding a place to sit with his back to a wall as he opens up the clunky laptop and sighs, resigned, muttering to himself over the technology:] What a hunk of junk. What year is it?


SCENARIO THREE;
[Sent back to back in quick succession, clearly thinking he's typing to himself because he didn't listen to a single bit of advice given by kind strangers:]

< M. > ...
< M. > hi
< M. > test
< M. > TEST
< M. > adhoahdaodjf;
< M. > sidhasoida


WILDCARD;
( I’m down to play literally anything, just testing the waters! Best way to reach me is DM, or shoot me a random prompt and I'll roll with it. )

scenario one? c:

[aistieada]

[ There's plenty about this situation that has Layla's head spinning, she has no idea how she landed out here in these unfamiliar woods or who might be responsible, let alone why the whole thing feels uncannily surreal, that's all a running tally in the back of her mind while her attention is held by the immediate predicament she's apparently found along the way. It didn't take long for her to size up this 'party' for what it is, at least on a basic level. It's not something that she expects to be friendly to a random stranger, especially if they're throwing around words like 'sacrifice.'

There's several sharp twigs digging into her stomach, to say nothing of how numblingly cold the ground is, but she can take that. Her plan is just to stay here, to stay quiet with her breath nice and slow and even, until this crowd clears out. Or until they seem distracted enough that she could risk making a slow crawl to some trees out of sight. Unfortunately for her that plan things start to get very hectic before she can think about moving.

But they don't all turn to look at her, there's someone else out here in the dark like her, and in that silence she hears, rather than sees, a knife whistling through the air, and that's enough reason for her to stay low to the ground. That and she's only just noticed the gun that's on the ground in front of her, gleaming in the firelight, almost as if placed there deliberately for her, and then there's the voice in her head, nothing like the chipper hippo goddess that she was hearing before.

She could just run, the stranger in the dark would make that the far easier option, maybe grabbing the gun on the way in case she's followed, but she won't leave them to face this mob alone, a determination that happened even before a familiar voice completely changes the whole situation. ]

Marc. [ She's not screaming at him, rather she's trying to hiss quietly enough just so that he'll hear her, not least of all because she doesn't want to get their attention yet if she doesn't have to. He's better with guns than she is, she'd rather toss the one she's grabbed to him and try to get her hands on that knife instead.

He doesn't have the suit now, does he? That makes this so much more tense, as much as she's glad to get rid of Khonshu. ]

Soq | Blackfish City

[blackfishgrunt]

CW: cursing

1, City without Trees

The cold is familiar, yet wrong. This is not the cramped space of the decommissioned ship, not a metal sheet under a box of cardboard, sticky with previous occupants fluids, nor is it the skin-numbing blast of arctic winds. Soq is quick to roll up, knowing better than to lie defenseless in unknown surroundings.

And then... just stares. There are no trees in Qaanaaq. Not even the rich can afford the soil and greenhouses for such frivolities and while they sure still exist in some parts of the world, the ones that didn't flood or burn or razed to nothing, Soq never saw any. They spend all of their life on the floating city. This is too real to be the Breaks too. The kid can't help but kneel back down, gather an armful of leaves and dirt, bury their nose deep into it. Smell how rich and alive the earth is, the decay implying this once lived, not so long ago. For the moment, nothing else much matters.

Later, they'll follow the smell of fire, knowing it only to mean food stalls or some kind of gathering. The smell is wrong, once more, not methane exhaust burning off, not waste being discarded the only way it makes sense when you don't want to poison the waters you live in. They know that other smell too, from accidents befalling all those unlucky, all those new enough to still mix up which color coded pipe stands for what.

At being spoken to, they square up, avoiding a glance to the blade that lies not so far away. Never show fear. Never show that you don't know the rules of such tests. Yet – Soq is angry. It's a thing that's been boiling for a long while, at many injustices. “Fuck that. Fuck you and your choices.” A quick bend, the blade nestling into a familiar hold. Their boots are heavy, sole infused with metal and the spikes on their hood should deter some attacks too. This is not a fight to win, but one to make a difference, powered by spite and the anger of the young. Ever the messenger, Soq moves fast, with determination, looking to harm as many as they could get away with.

2, City without Mercy

The city is more familiar than the forest ever could be, Soq slipping into the rhythm of crowds with ease, looking and analyzing and being utterly annoyed that despite all their taps, the bug in their jaw refuse to connect to any network. Charity is not something they trust, sneering at the implication they might need help and only snatching the laptop. What an ancient, clumsy thing to use and no known safe spot to hunker down in and look at all the information.

At some point it's all too much new, different things and Soq grabs the next person passing them by, holding tight to their clothes so they won't just slip away. “You – what is this? Where is Liam? Kaev? The Orcamancer?” Even up close, they'll defy a definition of gender: a butch haircut, broad shoulders, features that imply a mix of ethnicities. Pretty and young and full of attitude.

3, City without Language

Networks are familiar, a source of information that Soq used to constantly trawl with little bots, gnarly, frankensteined things that did what they should in unpredictable ways. That aren't working here. Another problem to chew. It wants them to choose a username too, not synchronizing with their state-mandated handle. Someone passing by might see Soq chewing on their lip, hunched over the laptop, contemplating. They pick one, change it, change it again. Labels have never quite fit them.

Eventually, “unscrupulous-noodles” will reply to the top post:

stop the blithering, numbwit.
u cant rely on others to fix your nostalgia. u do what needs to be done and walk on or else ur a waste of space. The city wont care, it never has.

(OOC: Dana here, trying out a potential new kid!)

2

[grivences]

Having shrunk a good eight inches, a few months into becoming a goblin, Robin makes a prime candidate for grabbing by the shoulders and shaking in a separate bid for answers. The only problem is, she doesn't have any for them.

"Whoa, wait— Hold on, who? What? I don't... know what any of that is..."

This person has to be new, Robin figures. Whoever they are, they still look human, but not like any of the humans that live around here.

"Just— Calm down, okay? Whoever or whatever you're looking for, chances are they're not here."

Jodio Joestar | JJBA/Jojolands

[novemberloot]

[OOC: /arrives a month too late with Starbucks. Sup.]

Scenario One


There's a person wrapped in that shroud, and Jodio does nothing from where he lurks in the darkness, hood pulled up against the chilling fog and bite of cold in the air, arms wrapped around himself to try to ward off a cold he's not felt since they moved from Atlantic City. He'd stopped as soon as he caught people wearing weird costumes and the smell of burning meat left far too long on the grill; sure, everyone's heard of weird spooky Satanic sacrifice bullshit, but finding people who seem to actually be DOING it? That's way, way above his paygrade, and he is not interested in joining either as a participant or as a sacrifice, he is interested in getting the hell out of there.

One step back is all it takes. A branch snaps, and the music dies, and as a voice whispers again in his head, this time clearer, he finds with an unpleasant twist in his stomach that November Rain is not answering his call, his only chance of fighting back against a dozen armed cultists. In countless worlds where fifteen year olds like him are powerhouses of trained combat and skill, Jodio is ... not one of them without his Stand. The gleam of a gun in the brush is snatched up as he turns and bolts for the "freedom" of the dark woods and fog, but by the way he holds the weapon as he goes, he's not used to using one at all.

Running away isn't the brave, bold choice, but it might be the one that keeps him alive. Some kid fleeing murdering lunatics in the woods surely needs help!!


Scenario Two


"Oh my god, where did they dig this fossil up?"

Seated at an outdoor table at some little shop he's ignoring entirely, Jodio fights with a laptop that looks older than his mother. This brick of a machine looked straight out of the eighties at best, which went with the rest of the environment but he's used to cellphones and sleek tablets not something he could use as a weapon to mug someone with. His cellphone is gone, which means this is the best chance he has at getting a message out to anyone not in the middle of Backwoods Nowhere. It's clear he knows how to use SOME form of laptop, but this thing's interface is so ancient it's a struggle.

There's pages and pages and pages of posts on some sort of decrepit old forum message board. None of them say anything about how to get home.

More than a few are suggesting there's no way home, and that this isn't Earth at all. Turning into a monster, eating people, some weird god nonsense, it sounded like .... like a really common manga trope actually.

[NvmbrRain]

Soooo how many of you got Isekai'd too? I don't remember getting hit by a bus, I expected a bus.

< SPEAKING.IN.TONGUES >

[seacub]

[...............oh god that's exactly what this is huh]

There's probably a right answer for this, but Isekai'd fits way more than it should.

Also I don't think you should remember getting hit by a bus. That's a lot of head trauma.

Eridanus Sungazer | (returning) Original Character

[icy_veins]

Two

[It's been too many moons since the peninsula has been graced with the pleasure that is Eridanus Sungazer, and just as soon as he'd risen from his overlong dirt-nap in Rota, has he skulked his way back to Bavan on a mission.

It would be impossible to not notice his own changes—or rather, lack thereof. Without his hands and visage smothered with opal, he feels somehow both too exposed and blissfully free. That does mean, however, that because he looks like his normal, elven self, that the good samaritans of the city have taken to plaguing him with their foul brochures and prying questions. (A) Perhaps you spot him, trying to shake off an over-zealous human who's latched themselves to him. Don't wait too long to intervene, as he seems to be reaching for the sword at his hip faster than his insistence to unhand him is being received by the helpful humans.

(B) Or perhaps you stop when you see him gazing into a shopfront full of mirrors. He's transfixed with his appearance, squinting through blurry vision as if he could will his old eyes to clarity as he slowly—very nearly with trembling fingers—touches at his ears.]

That... That she-devil... [Eridanus' voice shakes with anger, before he's suddenly whipping around and marching towards the nearest monster he sees—maybe you?] You. Are you a follower of that wretched woman? Take me to her domain now, so that I may cut her belly open and spill whatever she calls entrails!

[Demanding, isn't he?]

Wildcard

[Feel free to throw anything at me! If you'd like to discuss anything, I'm reachable at megagaytm!]

B <-he is amused but like. in a >:/ way

[fateschosen]

[Somewhere in the vicinity, a marble-white naphil is just trying to shop in peace. But nothing in this world is ever easy, not even when the land is for once relatively free from turmoil and Diavolo's rightful form is at last restored.

How dreadful being himself is at times like these. Of course the human zeroes in on him, blindingly obvious as he is, a shining standout in any crowd. And then the man sputters some nonsense about what must be the Fog God, and Diavolo scoffs. Dryly:]

You wound me. Is this how you always address your superiors? Hurling insults in the same breath that you clamor for my help...? I would sooner carve out my own heart than submit myself to her.

[He's got things to do today, little human, and they don't involve you.]