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

quentin smith . dead by daylight . current character

[pharmacy]

FEASTING cw: drinking, probably discussions of violence

Things got bad here, so bad. But he did his research. He talked with people who know best. He put his whole heart into making it better, and--a few missteps aside--it worked. There's no chance that Quentin is sitting out this celebration, not when it's been so long since he felt good, not when they've all earned this. 

Finally warm in his bones and unhindered by sprains or scratches or bruises, Quentin buoys cheerily in the Great Hall, eager to eat and drink with the familiar faces and the strange. For the familiar, you don't have to be a good friend to get a warm side hug and a cheers, a grinning ask: "We did good, huh?" 

His hands may find the waists and palms of his fellow exiles during the dancing, and look--he's learned steps since the last fete! His rhythm is decent, and he only misses a move every few phrases. Quentin even has enough knowledge to teach for anyone who's really floundering, though a more experienced exile may occasionally come in to correct both him and his partner. Oops! 

You don't even have to know him for him to drift into your orbit. If your cup runs low, expect a here, here from just over your shoulder, before he takes your cup and fills it again from the nearest pitcher. "Look, I know it's all a little crazy," Quentin laughs, nose and cheeks glowing pink from his own servings, "but it's not gonna be less crazy if you're sober."

 
FESTING

Between drinks, games, and dancing, he wanders the Courtyard to watch the light snow and keep quieter company. After spending weeks frozen to his very core, Quentin watches his breath steam in fat clouds with a giddy sense of wonder. Maybe that's partially the spiced cider making everything a little more magical. He's warm enough with his feet dipped in the heated pool that he actually folks the warm woolen jacket to use as a seat to keep the snow off his trousers. He pats the end of it to anyone coming near to use the pool. There's space on his cushion! 

The whole night, Quentin keeps himself moving. Drinking, dancing, eating. On the very edges of his mind (or more towards the center, if someone starts mulling about it too long), there's a siren singing, a reminder that this night will end, and things will be dark again, dank again, frozen again--and he can't stand the thought. When he runs out of people to cajole, conversations to have, steps to learn, he can be found in the Velvet Parlor until the wee hours of the morning. Sweet voice, spidering hands, silky tongue and giving spirit, Quentin does his part for the vibe with nearly reckless enthusiasm.

FREEZING 

In the icy morning, Quentin gravitates towards the body near him without a hint of gall. He's a cuddler on a regular day, nevermind when the chill is trying to nip at his exposed skin. His fingers sift between strands of fur, feeling for the aura of heat coming off someone else. They sew around the nearest waist, stitching the person closer to him. His nose, chilly as the air, presses to spine--between shoulderblades or at the base of neck or wherever--but the great humming sigh that comes out of him when he snuggles near is plenty toasty. 

His fingers and toes and nose may be chilly, but Quentin is at least versed in getting the hearth burning again. It's cold in the corridors, but it's still very superior to the ice that seized his whole body only a few days ago, so he walks the halls with a spring in his step and a smile he can't shake. For new folks, he's quick with directions or a word of advice, pointing out the places to rummage around for extra clothes, advising against hoarding, and (again) filling up empty cups with sour, watery wine. He pulls a face as he plucks a few pieces of rotted fruit out of his lukewarm porridge. "No, it's fine," Quentin assures to his tablemates, "Just pick around it, you're gonna want to eat while you can. At the very least, the calories will keep you warm."

OOC

Info is here, I'm wide open to wildcards! Don't be shy about reusing prompts, excited for new TDMers and new CR from current players! I kept my TLs pretty light bc he's had a rough month, but I'm very down to go dark/fucky : )

freezing .

[vocoder]

( little more than a precursor to death, touch seldom portends anything but violence.

kylo ren doesn't touch people he doesn't plan on harming, after all.

his waking motion is a tapestry of action — never mind the comfort of warmth, the single rarity of such an embrace. he punches away, has a hand around the throat of the offending party, hover fingers before his eyes, all before he has a moment to exhale. )

You'll tell me who you are. Now.

( his voice betrays some astonishment, but he keeps the demand even-keeled. the force prefers it, he finds. )

incredibly rude

[pharmacy]

Jesus--Quentin! I'm Quentin!

[ There's not a flicker of resistance, even if his would-be assailant has crunched up as much as he can, one knee and one elbow wedging in between them. It's warm! But nowhere near as cozy as he'd like. He knocks his chin up for a little clearer passage of air and, thoughtless, laces his fingers between those of the hand hovering over his face. ]

It's okay! It's okay, I'm not gonna hurt you! Sorry! You're safe! You're safe!

[vocoder]

Quin-10? ...Sounds like the name of an android.

( startled by the continued attempt at contact, he squeezes quin-10's windpipe. it's a reflex, an attempt at self-soothing. in a situation full of unknowns, he longs for the familiar — purpling cheeks, choked-out gasps, eyes bulged wide. )

Safe from what?

[pharmacy]

I'm not a fucking andr--nngh! [ Oh, there goes his air. His voice skitters under the grip like air hissing out of a tire. His shin (bare, because sure, why wouldn't they be naked) levers against the inside of Kylo's thigh to kick up at him. He grinds out: ] --get off-- 

[ Then a burst of telepathy, loud and empathically laced with the panic that's running through his head, on the inside of Kylo Ren's skull: ] 

Get off me!

[vocoder]

( had he not been saved by sound akin to a gong banging through kylo's skull, quentin might have been fine. he has use, so it'd be unwise for ren to kill him straightaway. emotions tend to get in the way of that, though. for his thoughts, quentin gets a burst of kylo's humiliation, latent rage, and subdued fear. he's never been naked before another person in this way, in what could be considered intimate. he's too ambitious to fuck. the shame of that alone—

distant, distant, way down. so far away, kylo doesn't realize those thoughts are being transmitted as he leans away, releases his hold. )

...It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you. You're safe.

( a clear mockery. doesn't quen-10 see how easy it is to discount platitudes? )

[pharmacy]

[ He'll feel bad for this guy and his premature transmissions later. Maybe even soon. But first Quentin rolls away to cough his throat open again. He presses his face into the furs to huff warmed air, more gentle on his windpipe than the icy air of the room.

[ His breath puffs a little when he peeks up to glare. ]

Fuck you, dude. I didn't come at you with a knife or something. I was trying to get warm. [ Still trying to get warm. His defensive burrowing makes him look more like a puppy than usual--not the energy he wants to project, but here we stand. ] What the fuck was that?

festivus—

[goeth]

( cute medieval waiter guy is one of the less fuzzy parts of the night so far, so when bonnie starts letting herself feel that things are not actually so dreamy and he offers a seat beside him at the fountain, she takes it. )

Finally taking a break from serving? Here, my turn.

( surprise! it's his turn to receive, as bonnie holds out a fresh cup of cider for him. her other hand waggles with wine, just in case. )

I wasn't sure what your preference is...

WAITER GUY

[pharmacy]

[ His face lightens at the offer--shines when he realizes he's being given a choice. ] Oh, shit! That's so nice... 

[ Cider, thank you! He holds the cup to her for a cheers, grinning all the way until he takes a sip. ] 

I haven't seen you around, but you do seem--way too chill. What's your name? 

festing

[bloodrops]

[ the snow is soft and quiets his steps as Louis approaches the fountain. he has no intention to frighten his friend, so he makes sure to be seen before he raises his voice. he's brought Quentin a warm drink from inside. a good will gesture. and also: ]

The drink I promised. But we don't have to talk about it.

[ it's possible that Quentin isn't in the mood to share his backstory. if so, Louis isn't going to force it, even though he is curious. he moves to sit down on the woolen jacket, facing the opposite way from Quentin and the pool, as he hands him the mug. he isn't going to get his feet wet or have a drink for himself. the cold doesn't bother him and he's not thirsty. (thanks Aemond.) ]

You were right, it was a game.

[pharmacy]

[ Even as he takes the warm cup between his hands, Quentin has to think a little to remember--they did have a talk about drinks and stories, didn't they? He can address it in a minute. For now, he'd rather bask in the glow of the compliment. ]

Thanks. I was worried I was wrong towards the end, though. Cesare really had to force me through. [ He blames the cold, but saying that outloud feels childish. Everyone was cold! He just had a mental breakdown. Quentin bumps Louis' shoulder. ] Everything happened so fast, but...I know you were one of the last crews to come back. You good? 

[bloodrops]

[ the shoulder bump is a little surprising, but not unwelcome. when Quentin does it, he realizes how sorely he's missed such casual touches. Claudia would barely even talk to him when they were traveling through Europe. ]

... Yeah, I'm good. [ he nods after a pause. ] Just a little hazy on the details. [ like... did he eat a man or did he not? but it happens. sometimes he doesn't know these things. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ] The prince with the eyepatch attempted to stop us. I think he went mad.

[pharmacy]

Prince with the eyepatch. Are you sure you didn't go mad? [ A toothless jab; he hasn't seen Lord Monocle yet. Quentin watches the wobbling reflection in his cup for a moment of quiet, zoning out to the sound of the party all around, avoiding a moment of sincerity. It shows up eventually. ] Thank you.

For believing me. If you and the others hadn't gone out, none of this would be happening. Maybe none of it would be here.

[bloodrops]

Not sure at all. There was also a big monster, a skeletal creature with its skin peeled off.

[ honest. Louis glances up to the starry sky while he waits for the moment of sincerity to surface, having sensed it coming a mile away. this is the prettiest night he's seen during his stay here, so he doesn't mind killing time like this. Lestat is probably off hunting somewhere. if only the memory of the monster didn't bother him so much. ]

Quentin, it's us who should be grateful to you. Who knows how long it would have taken us to follow the paths if you hadn't said anything. So if you have any other good ideas in the future, don't keep them to yourself. I'll believe you.

[pharmacy]

[ Louis compliments him, and only a little mind-reading is going to distinguish his wine flush from his flattered flush. It's good to hear. It's embarrassing to hear. He didn't really do anything. Quentin shakes his head gently. ] 

Well. Remember you said that when I get annoying. You're bringing this on yourself. [ He chews the inside of his lip. Something low in his gut turns as he has a dark thought: ] ...We saw a skeleton too. Huge. It started smashing...everything. Once we found the power sources. 

Do you think it's still there? 

lashes . closed to the chevalier

[pharmacy]

He strips down to his lightest layer, his long cotton shirt tucked into his trousers, and rolls the sleeves up to expose his arms to the elbows. It's a little chilly, but Quentin is shielded from the cold by his good spirits and the rich wine--and he'd really rather not risk anyone getting a thorn in his eye or nose or mouth. 

"Just--not the face, okay?" He laughs as he gets a grip of his briars, cheeky smile tilted up to the Chevalier. "I know it's not much, but it's what I have to work with." 
His footing with the Chevalier isn't the surest, but he trusts this man to get into the spirit of things. After the eclipse, they obviously need to be in the spirit. Look at Quentin, following lead! Isn't he impressed? 

"You ready, Chevy?" 

festing

[babysitters]

Steve feels like a real fucking downer. It's not that he doesn't get that they managed to do the impossible, and being alive right now is pretty awesome. He really, really gets it. It just feels... too soon? Too soon for him, anyway. He would like to take a beat, maybe sleep for a few weeks. Get some more distance between himself and a dozen mouths chewing him open in unison. It's been long enough to to get the party bumping, and nobody else seems particularly bothered, so it's definitely a him problem. If he just had the option to opt out, it would be fine, only...

Well, the castle is still pretty cold. And he's so over being cold at this point. So, maybe he'll stick around. Try and get over himself.

Steve sees Quentin and immediately heads in that direction, because where else would he go? Clumping up together with people after a trial is second nature at this point, so maybe it'll help. It feels like there's something he's forgetting, but Steve can't figure out what. Things are always fuzzy for him after a trial, though, and this whole eclipse thing was pretty much a trial. So maybe it's fine. It takes him a second to pry his Nikes off.

"What kinda hot tub only goes to the ankles?" Steve whines, because his feet being warm is only half the battle. All of him has been cold for what feels like forever. But he still joins Quentin anyway, despite his grievances. They gotta sit kinda close to share the jacket. He only notices once it's already too late. Whatever. That's fine too.