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

steve harrington. stranger dbd.

[babysitters]

THE COURTYARD.

( steve feels like a tape that someone sent back without rewinding. like trying to make sense of a movie that started in the middle. everything is over now and that's ... good. objectively. everybody is happy. he wants to be happy, too. so he needs to get his shit together. considering his tendency to be constant miserable slouch might have jumpstarted the eclipse in the first place, he really needs to man up and get over it already.

easier said than done, though. in hindsight, Steve doesn't get how Nancy put up with him for almost a year before losing her shit in Tina's bathroom. he's goddamn sick of parties. drinking and eating and fucking and pretending things are all cool. he used to be so good at it, too. what's wrong with him? why can't he just get over it?

Steve is attempting to fix his rank ass energy, at least. he's been cold for forever, practically, so the fountain made into a meager makeshift hot tub? deal. sold. that is something he can get behind. in fact, he was so desperate to be warm when he saw it he just stumbled in, clothes and all. his sneakers and socks appear to be the only thing he managed to peel off ahead of time, as they're strewn abandoned on the ground. steve harrington and getting in a bath with his clothes still on because he's having a bad brain day because the crucible kinda sucks, name a more iconic duo. he is laid flat, because that's the only way to be almost entirely covered. head lolled against the stone, hair sticking to the back of his neck. understandably, people seem to find it pretty weird and most seem to give him a wide birth.

anyone close enough to approach will find he's awake and alert, at least, even if he's almost entirely slumped. in fact, company gets enough of his attention that his eyes slide in that direction. ) Got a smoke? ( he asks like he already knows the answer and is trying to prepare himself for the disappointment. but you miss every shot you don't take, and he could really use a cigarette. )

A COLDER PATH.

( he's damp now, after his misguided soak. but whatever. it's fine. Steve lingers at a door, not quite committed to going through it yet, but staring at it like he's scheming something, and that can't be a good sign.

the party and fun is firmly behind him, and yet Steve can't quite turn back in that direction. it's just... well... well what happened to it? that knife. that knife cellar gave him. he doesn't remember giving it back, and he doesn't remember what he did with it. which doesn't make sense. he wouldn't just leave it behind.

it's really stupid. giving her back that knife is not going to fix how ugly things went. it's like putting a bandaid on an amputation. and yet Steve can't stop thinking about it. he has to get that knife, and he doesn't have it, so where is it? ostensibly, there's only one place it could be, and he doesn't want to go there alone. so he's just Lingering. Contemplating. Considering his options. )

TITHE OF MISTLE.

potential spicy and/or dubcon option, but if u want more than kisses i want to plot first 🫰

( maybe he adventured. maybe he didn't. either way, he's back, and hopefully fully dry by now. coerced to at least try the merriment, apparently, because he's got wine. and there's a bit of flush to his face that might hint he's already had some of it. he isn't as broody, at least, though he's definitely still in his head. staring up at a vine that is slowly flowering above. the color is all wrong; white instead of red. it's obviously magic, because mistletoe doesn't grow as you watch it (it's kinda trippy to watch, actually?? how long has he been watching? how far will it grow?). Steve knows it isn't quite the same as the mistletoe he's thinking of.

but he finds himself nostalgic, and a little homesick, sitting there staring at it. thinking back to when his life was somewhat normal. about stupid parties with glittery plastic berries, putting himself underneath of it to kiss nameless girls and taste the eggnog on their tongue. sitting with an arm around Nancy on her sofa as Karen Wheeler cooked enough for an army. actually seeing his mom for awhile, because she had so many Christmas parties she had to recover from. cookies and dumb movies and hot chocolate. sure Christmas got worse as he got older, and yet he can't help but wish he could go back. just one more. he wouldn't even complain about the stupid sweater his mom would undoubtedly make him wear.

when someone approaches, he stays in his head a beat longer, but crawls out again eventually. ) You think we missed it? ( Christmas, he means. he doesn't even look to see if his company would actually have any clue what that is, just assumes they'll get it. no, he just keeps staring at the slowly winding mistletoe. )

SUNDRY & WILDCARD.

steve is an existing character. because he died last event and i am waiting for more details as to how his wakeup goes, morning after prompts are not an option for wildcards. i am game to plot other things though, via pm or stalfos!

mix of colder path + thought-speak

[longlegs]

[ Raíz lets her agents die, but they don't stay dead. Whatever happens to them, no matter how abominable — she visits and she puts them back together, then she marches off to snap the culprit out of existence. Just gone, there one moment and gone the next, death taken to its extreme. Except there's no death, no torture, no future. All that's left of the killer is someone's certainty that they were real up until a moment ago.

Cellar's idea of death has been a little skewed because of that. Surrounded by reckless people who would rather stay alive but don't have to worry too much about dying, most of the veterans treating it as a break, not a permanent leave, while the newbie sits and wonders how in the world anyone can come to that point. Every death feels devastating, and every time it chips away at something, and when it's someone she likes, she feels like it's her fault. Take that and see it crumble tenfold when memories of Steve flash in the back of her mind, fighting to save everyone while Cellar couldn't even save him. The screaming, the blood, the horrible noises that monster made as it desperately tried to find a way to crawl into the young man's body. Her friend's body, while hers couldn't summon shadows long enough to make that fucking thing implode.

The last thing she's thinking about is the knife, when she learns that people have seen Steve, that he's not someone who was just real up until that terrible moment-ago. She searches through the celebrations, hair swinging along her jawline every time she turns her head and asks again: Have you seen Steve? It takes her too long to think to reach out with a thought, inexperienced on top of the scrambled connection around the eclipse, but — why not start here? If anything is worth it, it's getting to hear Steve's voice again. ]

Steve? Is this working?

courtyard. (lmk if ok!)

[wenche]

No.

( steve gets hauled to his feet, unfortunately a little roughly because she isn't the most delicate creature. brienne has removed precisely none of her clothes either, but she has a friend battle companion to inspect the state of and by all the seven (wherever they are) she will look into his eyes and see that they are his.

because the dead are not supposed to return, and she is terrified that she will find the same horrors she must accept from home again right here in her arms.

also she's not crying okay the water splashed on her face shut up. )

lmao brienne he was trying to vibe

[babysitters]

( so, Steve has been hefted around by a giant woman before. it isn't new, even if the suddenness lurches his stomach around, and makes him momentarily panic. if this is when everything stops being weird and he's back in a normal trial, he's actually going to completely lose it. could he just have five goddamn minutes without something happening??? he is not emotionally ready to go from eaten alive to meat hooked in rapid succession.

only, he isn't hauled away on some psycho's shoulder. he's just standing here, dripping. dripping, and quickly reverting to cold. laying down in his clothes was maybe not his best idea. and some of the other faces dotted around the fountain mutter some protest and send some strong looks. two people standing and splashing seems to really be messing with the calm vibe everyone seems to be going for. Steve doesn't really care about that, though, and that's character development, right??? let's just pretend he learned not to care about the opinions of others on his own, and not simply because the expectation of normal has been murdered out of him at this point.

he feels bad for Brienne. she's clearly never done this before. the whole you died and I watched and now you're here and it's really fucking me up thing. she's upset and it's a lot. he used to get really fucked up after a trial, so it's not like he doesn't get it. Steve gives her a soggy pat on the arm. there there. ) I'm okay. Nobody told you? ( that he wasn't dead anymore, that is. was he supposed to tell her? shit. clearly he didn't. that... well... shit. he really should have done that. )