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

[mountreal]

[ He doesn't stop until Ilya makes him. Until he uses his first name and sets Shane's spine tingling with the way he's grabbed and maneuvered against the wall. Like he doesn't have a choice, because he doesn't. ]

Stop it.

[ He doesn't mean it. Despite the stubborn way he'd been stalking down the hall seconds earlier, brushing off Ilya's touches, Shane goes without a fight, grabs him back by the front of the jacket and drags him in close. Nervously looking back over Ilya's shoulder and down the hall the whole time, of course, but he can't resist. His pulse is still hammering too hard from the embarrassing moment in the great hall and he needs the grounding, needs to be pinned and held and focused on...

...until Ilya says something that makes him narrow his eyes and cock his head, pulled up short. ]

You're telling me you dance with girls in your dreams? [ He scoffs, like he should have known, but there's something unsettled in his expression now. ] See? Asshole.

[ He tries to shove Ilya off of him half-heartedly and is glad when it doesn't work. Shane's fingers curl tighter into his jacket and he tugs on it, almost like he's trying out the physics of this place. Like he has any questions after sending the entire tray of drinks toppling to the floor five minutes ago. ]

Obviously this is my nightmare. You with girls, fucking up a party... Can't wait for my parents to walk in on us fucking next, somehow.

[hattricked]

( the hold on Shane’s shoulder loosens for a moment, until fingers tighten in his own jacket and Ilya crowds forward. not exactly
to trap but so Shane feels the familiar weight of him pressed close like there’s no point they don’t connect. like a lifeline even if right now Shane doesn’t look so pleased with him.

Ilya takes a deep breath, then another. tries not to let the sudden anger building in his chest boil over into something vicious because this is a reasonable tension. there’s women for Ilya, there’s Svetlana. there’s a sore spot that is easy to press and even in his dreams he’s managed to press it. ) In my dream I was dancing with a girl and wishing she was you, yes. And then you show up so I got my wish.

( not exactly the way he’d hoped since he’d rather be dancing with Shane, but this feels like a dream mirroring reality. somewhat. mostly not. he’s still confused about the whole thing but when Shane is upset in front of him, Ilya’s whole focus narrows. there’s a flutter in his chest, a strong desire to soothe and make it better. to take care of shane. maybe this is really what love is in the end. even in a strange dream that a dream version of his boyfriend thinks is his own nightmare.

He brings the hand from Shane’s shoulder to cup the side of his neck, then tilts his chin up if it slips to the lapels he’s trying to burn a hole into with his stare. he tries to catch Shane’s eyes, softens his own. ) I’m not with girls, I’m with you.

[mountreal]

[ Ilya boxes him in like a weighted blanket and even though Shane would hate it were it anyone else in the world, it's exactly what he needs right now. Ilya knows him, even dream-Ilya knows him, it would seem, and Shane sighs into the little sliver of space left between them. Breathes him in like a drug, then looks up at him with shy, hopeful eyes that betray how much he was wanting - needing - to hear him say something like that. ]

Yeah? [ He lets go of the jacket to smooth his palms down Ilya's chest instead, to let himself reach around and settle his hands on the small of his back under his dinner jacket. Another nervous glance over Ilya's shoulder, but they're still alone. ] Maybe you summoned me. But we didn't get to dance.

[ The thought of dancing with Ilya in public gives Shane goosebumps that he can't shake off. He wouldn't go back into the hall he just disgraced himself in for all the money in his 2017 contract but dancing with his boyfriend in public is a possibility -- a distant, painfully distant possibility -- that he can't shake. Suddenly it makes him a little sad, makes him hold onto him all the tighter. ]

Where the hell are we, Ilya? Why can't I wake up?

[hattricked]

Mhmmmm. ( it’s easy agreement, natural. Ilya follows Shane’s gaze around the corner, cranes his neck a little to make a show of checking if the coast is clear before turning back to quickly press their lips together. it’s chaste, gentle and doesn’t last as long as he wants it to but he doesn’t want to be pushed away when Shane’s finally melted against him.

the touch under his jacket feels like a lifeline, a connection grounding him in a moment he isn’t sure is reality. ) Maybe. But the night isn’t over and we can find somewhere private to dance.

( even in their dreams, it’s safer to hide. it’s bittersweet and Ilya wishes this dream wasn’t so—- that it didn’t feel so real, that his mind could just accept the absurdity and embrace this moment together.

Shane’s hold on him tightens and Ilya reaches up to cup the back of his head, running fingers through the shorter strands at his nape. touch is how they connect, how they know the other is there and real. and this feels too real. ) I don’t know. But it has to be a dream. I remember we went to bed. Just the two of us at the cottage.

( just the two of them, blissed out after another night of fucking like they were making up for lost time. after a day that was nothing short of emotional, draining too. he wants to open his eyes and find himself in that bed again, with Shane in his arms. he has no idea how to fix this, to stop this ridiculous dream where a version of his boyfriend built by his subconscious is just as panicked and confused as he is but hiding it worse. ) Maybe we need to try sleeping here to wake up.

[mountreal]

[ The kiss is too quick, too stolen, but Shane is so grateful for it that tears spring into the corners of his eyes immediately. He squeezes them shut to fight off the urge to cry, stubbornly refusing to, and Ilya pulls back at exactly the right time to leave Shane wanting more instead of worried he's had too much. His lips follow Ilya's retreating ones with a little pout, disappointed, but he lets his head fall back against the wall behind him with a sigh.

He opens his eyes slowly, assessing Ilya's idea with amused disbelief. ]

What? Like, in a broom closet? That's crazy.

[ Any crazier than stealing kisses in the dark corner of some dream castle? Fuck, maybe not. He feels crazier every moment that he lets it go on but Shane tilts his head into the caress even as his heart starts to beat a little faster, nervous and excited. Flustered, like Ilya always gets him. He can't resist him and that's always been Shane's problem. The problem he never wants to go away.

But what Ilya says next unsettles Shane like nothing else so far has. ]

Me too. [ He says it slowly, unformed dread creeping up on him suddenly much faster. In seconds his chest is a little tighter, his breath coming a bit shorter. ] That's the last thing I remember. I fell asleep beside you, after maybe the best couple days of my life, and then... woke up here. Tonight.

[hattricked]

( Shane’s answer gets a soft snort in return, an amused tilt of the head. ) No, Hollander, a broom closet is too… how do you say? In Russian, it’s too on the forehead?

( he lifts a hand, mimics flicking Shane’s forehead but doesn’t quite do it. this is a dream, them actually sneaking into a literal broom closet is a step too far. ilya already can’t shake the paranoia of being caught and this is a figment of his mind. ) We find a room.

( that hand then drops to Shane’s neck, thumb tracing his jawline. this can’t be mistake for anything other than what it is, this intimacy between them. no one is coming down the hall but there’s a thrill in doing this in semi-public. Ilya should step away but when he sees the panic so clearly written on Shane’s face, he cannot.

physical touch works best but so does distraction, getting Shane to think about something else. ) Hey. Breathe with your boyfriend, ok? We are here together, it’s okay. We’ll dance and then figure this out.

[mountreal]

[ Too on the forehead. He'd been starting to feel that 'might be dying' feeling creeping into his chest again, the same one he'd had in his living room what still felt like only that morning. But the slightly different Russian saying gets a soft, adoring smile out of Shane. He's momentarily distracted by how fucking smitten he is with this man. It's too easy to be derailed by Ilya's teasing. ]

The nose. In English, it's too on the nose. Forehead makes more sense, though.

[ Like a smack in the forehead, which Shane is kind of feeling like he should do to himself right now for phrasing it that way.

But the whole 'remembering to breathe' thing helps calm him down too. In very slowly, then out along with Ilya. Shane's fingers continue to toy at the edge of Ilya's belt, hidden under his jacket. Even though nothing else about them is hidden right now it feels like another little secret when he slides his fingertips under the waistband of Ilya's slacks so he can dig up his tucked-in shirt and feel skin. ]

I'm still not used to that. Boyfriend.

[ It's so much better than 'lover', so much better than whatever they'd been doing for years before it had all come out at once and things had changed. Even in the unreality of this dream Shane can feel the change, is clutching at it even as Ilya helps him breathe through and divert the beginnings of a panic attack. ]

Who taught you how to waltz, anyway? I don't know how.

[hattricked]

I will ask you this later to make sure it is true. ( because on the nose sounds very stupid, actually. because english is a very stupid language. Ilya looks at Shane with a similar fondness, edges of his lips curled upward an eyes soft. he can feel the nervous energy still but its muted, perhaps a reflection of his own in a dream he doesn’t understand. )

It has only been three days. ( three days because the near decade is complicated, even if it’s felt like they’ve committed to something longer than just the few days they’ve had at the cabin. ) You will get used to it.

( and maybe, one day, after they retire it’ll be something else. not boyfriend but something more, something bigger that Ilya feels vibrating through his chest but can’t quite name. not yet. maybe one day but not now, even if they’re both in suits and—- he coughs, trying to come back to himself to relish in the touch to his skin. Shane’s fingers are warm and Ilya leans back into them. )

It’s part of being son of decorated government official. ( he scrunches his nose, not wanting to really think of his father in a moment like this. but then, softer. ) But my mother taught me. I can teach you.

( he holds out a hand, waiting for Shane to offer so he can lead him away from the wall and find them somewhere to disappear to so they can enjoying the moment together. so they can have something private and have the moment they both so long for without the threat of being seen. )

[mountreal]

Hey, fuck you! [ There's a flash of delighted mischief in Shane's eyes, his competitive nature flaring up when he's not really believed. He bumps Ilya with his chest a little, but since he's still holding onto him so tightly it's more of a sharp jostle. ] I'll check if you know it later. Because this is my weird-ass dream.

[ But the mention of his mother has Shane feeling all watery again instantly, putty against the wall and against him, so he's more than willing to go when Ilya holds out a hand to him. Still unsure, still healthily nervous, he takes it immediately. Ready to be led.

He doesn't say it out loud, but he has the same idea as Ilya. Shane is going to want to check if that fact about Ilya's mother is true when he wakes up. ]

Well. It looked like she did a really good job. From what I saw, I mean. [ He trails after Ilya, fingers twined but with Shane's ready to disentangle at any moment, should they come around the wrong corner. He hates that even holding hands with Ilya in public like this - in a dream - makes his heart feel like it's ready to pull an emergency exit in his throat. ] The treasury department doesn't really throw balls. Or dances. Or whatever.

[ The more he sees of the halls, the more he wonders if wandering farther into the dream is the best idea. Ilya seems almost sure of their direction, but Ilya is always sure in Shane's dreams. Always playful, flirty. Reassuring. All things he's been so far. But sometimes the dreams with Ilya in them feel dangerous too, though the danger never comes to anything. Shane always wakes up before the sense of unease becomes too bad.

Making it extra weird that he still hasn't woken up yet. ]

Where are we going? [ Because asking basic questions to fill the silence is what he does. ]