𝔄 𝔐𝔦𝔡𝔴𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔑𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱'𝔰 𝔇𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔤 𑁍 [WINTER TDM]

[gorelord]

Welcome to the Test Drive!

The TDM is welcome to current players and anyone who wants to play in the setting and is encouraged to be used by prospective players. If you are interested in joining the game, you will need to obtain invite from the mod or through an existing member.

For information on the game premise, setting etc, please utilize the navigation pages below. Questions specific to the TDM prompts or the setting can go to the comment thread. Anything else relating to game mechanics can go in the FAQ.

Events in this TDM are considered game canon and occurs immediately after the Chapter II eclipse event between chapters II and III. Any threads in TDM are considered canon as long as both parties agree.

Please make sure to identify in your top levels as either current or new player/characters.

GAME PAGES

premise
setting
faq
rules
glossary

i.
rise:
A Dream's Beginning

(cw:nsfwl; ritual sex, mood altering substances )

It begins with a nightmare, the details of which have slipped through your fingers. Only the curling echo of its dread lingers in your chest. Something has snapped you out of a catatonic state: a gust of icy wind whistling through the crack of a window, the soft beating of drums under the melody of strings, the cold kiss of fat snowflakes catching on your eyelashes, the smell of spiced wine and evergreen.

A few things become clear: You are not where you were, and you are not alone.

Feast for Saints

Tonight is a night of celebration for the Lonely Fortress. The horrors have been set aside, replaced with the warm mirth and grace of being alive. Whether this is your first night in the Crucible or your fortieth, all are welcome to partake in this renewing fete under the silver light of a full buttery moon. Snow dances like flower petals in a lazy array, leaving a shallow blanket of white. The fire roars in the hearth of the Great Hall, spreading its warmth throughout its adjacent parlors. Despite murmurings of a recent catastrophic eclipse cleaving the castle twain, its halls and buildings show no sign of decay. The Egregore has been cleansed, balance has been restored. Spirits are high, people are at ease.

If you choose to partake, there are a few select locations where people have gathered to celebrate:

𑁍The Great Hall is open for feasting and dancing. The fortress stores have provided a wintertime feast of roasted meats & vegetables, pies, fresh and aged cheeses, dried fruits, candied nuts, and seeded cakes. The hall smells of spiced honey wine and mulled cider, both packed with a warm and buzzing inebriation that creeps on unexpectedly. A makeshift band of strings and drums plays lively music for people to dance to.

𑁍The Velvet Parlor is a smaller hall branched off of the main festivities for those looking for softer and more intimate comforts under the candlelight. Tonight, its guests pay tribute to celebrate the passion of life and to beckon the sun to rise in a ritualistic tangling of bodies. Here is the place to become a true eater of sin. All furniture has been nudged to line the walls, making way for a sea of cushions and pillows for celebrants to laze upon as they imbibe in strong, distilled spirits, as the air above them swirls with a sweet, toasty incense imbuing a mellow calm and stirs carnal appetites. A masked man plucks away a sultry tune on his lute in a corner as the night gradually gives way to passionate bodies tangled among the pillows.

𑁍The Courtyard brings a breath of fresh, brisk air as snow falls playfully overhead. Large braziers line the yard offer meager warmth from their roaring fires as exiles partake in snow fights and release wishing lanterns bearing your inner most desires into the sky. Steam rolls off the yard's central fountain, which has been fitted to disperse heated water to provide a makeshift heated pool, a perfect place to thaw chilly hands or feet (or just go all in if ye be bold enough.)

A Colder Path

If instead you choose to abstain, it becomes apparent every dream has its limits.

The castle beyond the festivities is cold, dim, and abandoned. Behind every door, a drab and empty room (if the handle isn't locked or broken). The keep's gates are closed, the sunken village beyond a frozen wasteland. The further one strays from the warmth and merriment, the colder and darker it becomes.

Isolation breeds madness, too much time spent away from others may lead to paranoia. Figures shift in the dark, a breath tickles the nape of your neck. You may see familiar faces, hear familiar voices, beckoning you to stray further from your path towards uncertain doom: a crooked nail sticking out of the floorboards, a hurried shove off the top of the stairs, a door that opens over the edge of a rocky cliff.

As determined as you may be, the only way out of this dream is through.

ii.
revel:
Trials of Merciful Holly

(cw:potential for dubcon/noncon, mood-altering.)

As the midwinter evening persists, a visitor long awaited comes knocking at the Great Hall's doors. A tall man emerges with a body molded out of braided wood, bearing thorn-tarnished armor and a tattered crimson cloak. With every step forward, thorned vines that stitch across the walls and floors, blooming with plum purple leaves and small budding flowers.

"The Briar Lord," one exile gasps. "Gregor's returned," another praises tearfully. With a bow, he treats the celebrants of the Lonely Fortress with the innocence of a festive game.

"O' eaters of sin, indulge me in this friendly Midwinter game. Ye have survived a harrowing and for that ye shall be rewarded for purging of thy wickedness. I ask thee this final offering to purge this winter and beget a new spring. Give me thy blood and affection with honor and I shall see this cold vanquished. What I am given, I will return what was given me. Then, in trust and friendship, we shall part."

Bats and Lashes

The Lord's game is a simple marital task held out in the frost covered garden: a duel of branches. Each competitor will be given handful of briar as their weapon. The aim of the game is to whip each other until the thorns of the briar's branches draw blood. The first to draw blood from the opponent is the victor and the blood price paid.

Yet, not all these branches are created equal. A fortunate competitor may be given a Bewitching Branch. Those whipped by this branch will become utterly obsessed and infatuated to whom they've been struck by for a short period of time after, beholden to their branch master until the sting of thorns wane.

Tithe of the Mistle

If you choose not to partake in the Lord's game, the Lord warns that his winter's briar will collect a tithing of affection. The vines that bloomed with his arrival grow rampant behind seeing eyes. Buds turn into flowers, petals shed as they mature into plump white mistle berries that release the sweetest scent to draw you in.

Either you have accidentally stumbled upon the mistle, or it has decidedly grown itself above you without your noticing, but you become bewitched by its scent. As the tricksy bramble coils around your ankles, giving the gentlest of biting from its thorns, it becomes clear that you will be consumed if you do not pay the mistle its tithing. For some, it only takes a kiss, for others, the mistle will demand more. Give it something meaningful. Give it something real, and you will be released.

iii.
respite:
Midwinter Mourning

All good dreams must come to an end. The following morning paints a different picture of the Lonely Fortress witnessed in the night's collective dreaming. The Crucible sits under a thick blanket of snow, the waters surrounding the keep have frozen solid. None of the warmth of the night remains; it feels as though the world has died. The whole of the Crucible feels cold, quiet, abandoned.

Every hearth has burned out, every brazier snuffed under the snow, every candle smothered. It's quiet, empty, dark. Daylight may have come, but a thick layer of storm clouds casts a foreboding shadow. If the desire remains to leave, it quickly becomes apparent there is nowhere else to go.

Warm Winter's Kiss

With luck, you have woken in a bed under a pile of old furs to keep some semblance of warmth with you. With even better luck, you've woken next to company to keep each other warm throughout a cruel cold morning. Without proper protection, the cold is biting against exposed skin. Joints and limbs become stiff and numb, making it difficult to move around without constant tending if one lacks gloves.

While hearths can be re-lit and heated baths can be drawn, the true comfort from freezing can only be found in the close company of other living creatures. Exiles on this cruel morning keep each other warm through sharing heated breaths and pressing bodies. Expressions of passion and compassion help the warmth to linger just a bit longer for those who cultivate it together, granting brief autonomy of movement before finding another's heat is needed again.

Breakfast is served, but it's nothing remotely glamorous to the feasting offered by the Midwinter dream: simple porridge that leaves a stale taste that coats the tongue, nuts and fruits that are half rancid, boiled wine that's been watered down to detract from how far along it's turned into vinegar. Its only promise is to fill an empty stomach until more food can be found.

Outside, the snow begins to fall again. An omen that this winter is here to stay. Welcome to the real Martyr's Crucible.

Comments

sloth bear – original – new character/returning player

[snakeshead]

THE GREAT HALL

[sloth’s fingers twist into the bedsheets so tightly her nails dig into her palms through the fabric– no, around a glass of wine. her heart is a heavy beat in her chest, the cool draft sweeping gently through her hair. the tension around the glass is relaxed, though her nails have left their half-crescent reminders. someone is speaking to her, and, slowly, her attention is drawn from the source of cold to the person in front of her:]

I’m sorry, what were you saying?

[she’s smooth in her recovery, raising the glass to her lips while a flurry thoughts flit through her mind: what was i doing, where was i, what happened before the party. normally she can remember everything, but there’s an ugly space of darkness prohibiting further details. the wine coats her tongue and warms her throat on the way down, but she can’t quite pull her eyes away from the open window. she feels a compulsion to close it, to forget the socializing and ignore this stranger(?), but she stands firmly in place, burying the urge.]

THE COURTYARD

[perhaps an uncanny pair of eyes reflecting in the dark catch your attention as sloth releases a lantern, a seconds worth of a flash gone when she looks in your direction. that can’t be right, can it? she smiles, something euphoric in her expression before the moment is gone and she’s wandering around the courtyard, sometimes pausing to look up at the sky, watching the snowflakes as they float gently down, down, down to catch in her hair and melt over skin.

she seems utterly unbothered by the winter temperatures despite her pink cheeks and reddened hands, hands that find the warmth of the fountain’s water soon enough.]

Pretty dreamy, isn’t it? I think it's kind of nice.

[she asks anyone who’s within earshot, icy blue eyes looking at them with an unwarranted amount of intensity, as though she’s trying to take dismantle something inside of them, something they haven’t realized yet. using dreamy was deliberate– sloth is trying to determine just who has figured out their predicament.]

WILDCARD

( hello friends!! here is some info on her, feel free to play around how your character finds her. open to any prompts! feel free to pm me or hmu over at turnt w questions/etc :> )

the great hall

[longlegs]

[ The person Sloth is talking to — maybe they're real, maybe they're not, maybe it's all the drinks in Cellar's system that make her think their speech is distant and muffled, neighbors next door talking about their plans or an unsolved issue in their relationship. It makes them easier to ignore, when she places one hand on each of Sloth's shoulders, sliding them to her front so she can hug her from behind, cheek pressed against her, curved down to make up for the height difference. It hasn't been that long, but it feels like she's missed having her girlfriend in her arms for an eternity.

The stranger and the window will have to wait. Cellar indulges in the warmth, the familiar scent of smoke and copper that follows Sloth everywhere, stealing her away from the conversation without moving an inch. It's in her hair, on her skin — every perfect part of her that Cellar gets to have tonight. ]

Found you.

[snakeshead]

When was– [she starts, promptly distracted by cellar's arms winding around either side of her neck, her voice summer-sweet in her ear. sloth's free hand reaches to clasp over cellar's, her lips breaking into a smile as she leans into the embrace.]

Hello, you. [the stranger barely gets an apologetic glance, though it seems sloth enjoys having an audience for the reunion.] I didn't think I'd see you here.

[here, like the party is something planned, the welcome surprise of cellar's presence making her suspicious thoughts stutter to a halt. what was she thinking about?]

[longlegs]

[ It feels right, so it feels real — the drinks, food, music, the thuds of footsteps as people dance, the chatter and noises of affection and heat. This is a safe little space for them, where Cellar invites Sloth to turn around, wasting no time in greeting her with a kiss to the lips, soft and slow, lingering for as long as they can.

They're a contrast to each other, as though they were deliberately matched to make everyone look twice with a curious hum, one tall blonde and a petite brunette that the stranger is welcome to watch, so long as it doesn't bore them. An enamored sigh leaves Cellar's lungs before a smile interrupts the reunion; she stays close, back straight, playing with Sloth's dark hair and searching the favorite parts of her features. (Spoilers: it's all of them.) ]

I missed you.

[ A little melodic, giving away sentiment that Cellar was never good at hiding anyway. Fingers wrap around the glass, gently prying it from Sloth's hand to taste the wine and the rim where her lips were moments ago. She lets it linger on her tongue and wonders — when was the last time she tasted something even remotely this good?

(Memories of old, rotten food, people starving until they were desperate enough to eat anything they could, are all within reach and an eternity ago. Everything is all right now.) ]

This place is pretty weird, huh?

[ And yet she sees nothing wrong with it. She might as well be an illusion dreamed up to enchant Sloth, rather than the dreamer existing within it. ]

[snakeshead]

[she twists her body around, head tilted and lashes fluttering closed for the kiss. she tastes honeyed wine on her lips and nothing else, just cellar and her breath mixing with her own. one arm languidly wraps around cellar's waist when she pulls back, a soft laugh as her drink is stolen.]

Missed you, too.

[but wasn't she just with her? her brows knit, a tug of logic at the corners of her consciousness. the energy of the hall feels familiar, yet not quite tangible. ever the tactile creature, she brushes a strand of hair from cellar's face. this part seems right, but what about the rest of it?]

You think? [she does a quick scan of the crowd around them to look for familiar faces.] Are you really here with me?

[longlegs]

I hope so. I've been here this whole time without you. It'd suck if they took me away just as you got here.

[ What's 'they'? She doesn't know yet. There's just the sense of something alive and pushing the rest of them down, like it needs them and resents them all at once. A place that punishes you and makes you grateful that it didn't decide to be worse.

Today it does something nice for Cellar, and in the process, something so terrible to Sloth. ]

What about you? Are you really here, or - did I finally dream of you?

THE COURTYARD

[hattricked]

( icy blue meets icy blue, Ilya cocks a brow as he looks at the young woman beside him. she doesn't look familiar, but in dreams the characters aren't always people that he knows. usually, though, he wakes up and he can place them. maybe he'd met her at a club once, she looks striking enough to remember.

and at her words he snorts, looks up at the sky for a moment. he wishes he had a cigarette and wonders why the fuck he wasn't able to conjure that up in his dream. he's pretty sure tobacco was a thing whenever this is meant to be and if it wasn't, ilya's smoked since he was fourteen. surely his brain wouldn't skimp out. he tucks his hands into his pockets, still seated on the edge of the fountain facing the water so he can keep his feet warm. it's doing a better job than his shoes.

the words the woman speaks are said with meaning and, well, Ilya's already got that part down. this is, in fact, a dream. usually no one else in the dream knows that even when he does. weird. )

Yes. Very dreamy, ( he says dryly. ) Very.... ( he waves a hand in the air, thinking, then snaps, wondering if the world will start shaking now. he hopes that one french actress who's name he can't remember pops out of somewhere. ) Gothic winter horrorland meets Inception.

[snakeshead]

[her laugh is gentle, a soft whisper of air at the mention of inception. the scrutiny shifts into pleasant surprise – relief, even – at finding a comrade. she isn't one to panic, but the growing unease in her gut isn't there for nothing. her dreamscapes are never like this, stuck in a growing landscape where she can't find the middle ground, no planes of reality to rise toward, no brief, blood-rush sensation before she can leave her body. this is endless, but dreams are supposed to feel that way, aren't they? they have a swallowing about them.]

Someone's used to dreaming alone. [a gentle tease as she removes her hands from the water, moving to sit beside ilya.] I haven't had visitors like you in a long time.

[whatever 'long time' means– time stretches and stretches, sloth and ilya's hours could be their world's minutes.]

I think we're the visitors today, though.

[hattricked]

( the world doesn't tremble, doesn't start to explode all around him when he says it aloud. and it didn't when he'd spoken to Shane before but he expects it to now. it makes his stomach turn all over again. )

Aren't we supposed to dream alone? ( he asks, looking up at the sky. he really wants a cigarette. ) So you are used to whatever this is?

( his gaze drifts back to his companion. he'd been joking, somewhat, when he'd referenced the movie but now that she's talking about it-- when she sounds serious, he wonders. ) So someone else's dream? Like real Inception?

[snakeshead]

[he asks a good question, one sloth considers responding with a more straightforward answer, but ultimately decides against it. lay too much strange information on someone and their world can fall apart. she doesn't quite take ilya for that kind of person, but she may sense his anxiety:]

Are we? [her eyes linger on his face, then she joins him in looking at the sky.] I'm used to a lot of things.

[a wild understatement.]

Someone? [a quick narrowing of her eyes as she glances at him from her peripheral.] I was thinking "something".

the courtyard.

[changement]

[ having traveled around the world and to different parts of the universe throughout the years of her contract, monarch should be more used to colder environments and uncomfortable situations than she is. she's outside mostly due to being unnerved by the activity inside, but she still shivers in the snow, arms wrapped tight around her middle as she huffs out her breath, watching it turn to clouds before vanishing into the frigid air.

a voice speaks up beside her, and she huffs out again (if a breath could take on a tone, this would be sardonic). ]

Yeah, nice, sure. [ she pauses a second, a spark of recognition in her eyes as she turns over the other woman's words and voice, and then she turns to her as it all clicks. ]

No way. [ it's unclear if the reaction is due to her recognizing sloth or to her putting together what she already has (it's a little of both). ]

[snakeshead]

[she'd know that voice anywhere.]

Monarch. [said around a soft laugh of disbelief, sloth turns to face her friend. it looks like a few of them have been pulled into whatever dimension that has decided to screw with their lives.] When did you realize?

[changement]

[ monarch’s overall demeanor brightens considerably as sloth confirms her suspicions, her disbelief shifting into a bright smile as she approaches, arms outstretched in case sloth will accept a hug. ]

Longer than it probably should have, considering. [ but she doesn’t have the control or stamina to maintain something to this scale. she’s not sure she wants to meet the person who does. ] How long have you been around? Is anyone else here?

lmk if this is ok!

[goeth]

( so okay bonnie did ignore the vibes she was getting during the feast. she even scurried to the opposite end of the table from them, away from sloth where she could ignore her and pretend she's just another figment of a dream. a desire for connection made manifest, a desire to reconnect to the most basic facets of her magic, and therefore a little too real thank you very much.

but out in the courtyard, those eyes draw her in. and despite how much she wants to pretend like everything is all right... bonnie ultimately isn't the type to run away. she perches on the edge of the fountain after being a creep and watching sloth make her rounds.

dreamy, huh? )

Who are you? Did you do this?

( her big brown eyes are curious, verging on desperate when she grabs recklessly for sloth's arm, with an accusation on her tongue and she reaches out in search of something deeper. information she can't get with questions, but that might float along the tendrils of magic and filter to the part of herself that sees the unseen, that knows by senses unknown rather than by consciousness or thought. )

omg more than ok :>

[snakeshead]

[no detail escapes her if she can help it. she tracks movement like a snake waiting in the grass, catching bonnie in her peripheral as she retreats from the food, the hum of noise. if she's going to be watched, she'll watch back. when she's grabbed, she doesn't seem surprised. her eyes flicker down to bonnie's hand around her arm, then back to her face with an indifference to her expression that's nearly insulting. not immune to a psychic push but familiar with the sensation: watch it.

the inside of her mind is a strange place to be looking– dark corners and creeping shadows, memories of a snow-kissed forest floor and red orbs floating in the dark. are they looking at sloth, or at bonnie?]

My name is Sloth. [reaching to wrap her fingers around bonnie's wrist] Be careful in there. [you're not going to like it.] I don't have the power to do whatever this is.

[goeth]

( as sharp as bonnie can be, she really thought she was being sneaky. she gasps with the realization that sloth was anticipating bonnie's approach. and gasps again as the images wash over her.

the flow works two ways, the depths of bonnie revealed in kind: fire, a whirlwind of feathers, and a winding path. flashes of women who have bonnie's nose and her cupid's bow mouth line it, this dirt road that walks backward through the ages to the cradle of life itself.

she releases sloth with another quiet gasp, and rocks backward a little. her eyes rake over sloth with awe and a little fear. then she blinks and her face twists. terrifying existential panic later, judgy defensive brat behavior now: )

Sloth?