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

[creatura]

( does he have mistletoe, where he comes from? not that the creature can recollect. perhaps one of the skins he wears, one of the men he used to be, had some knowledge of mistletoe — a silly tradition for stolen affection, barely disguised under the facade of fertility and peace. he knows not how he can have memories of lives he never lived, and can certainly not rifle through them on command, so as far as the monster knows, the answer is no. or, more accurately, if the tradition existed, he was never close enough to human kind to know of it.

Louis talking too much reminds the creature somewhat of his father, who had never met a voice he loved so much as his own. it is is a stretch to call the familiarity a comfort, when the monster and his father had been contentious for nearly the entirety of his life. the monster does still think fondly of the way Victor's nose crunched under his thumb. still, after watching the man grow old and die, soften enough to beg for forgiveness, it is not unduly awful to be reminded of him. the creature somewhat slumps, shrinking into something somewhat less feral and imposing, now that he has more or less accepted his fate. )

No. Do you know how to get us free or not? ( instead of taking random stabs at affection, maybe they could start there. )

[bloodrops]

[ another hint to suggest that this man isn't from the same reality as him, possibly. although his appearance is the biggest giveaway so far, Louis thinks. his movements aren't quite human enough. ]

This is worth a try because affection plays a big role in it. People decorate their houses with mistletoe on Christmas, and if you happen to stand under it with someone else, you two are supposed to kiss.

[ and they're covered in it now. Louis gestures with his hand, a little amused by the whole thing. it's so obvious. he's confident that this is going to free them and kissing a stranger is nothing after sucking blood from sewer rats for decades. he raises his brows at the creature expectantly, teasing him. ]

Now would be a good time to reveal that mouth.

[creatura]

( the creature spares a mild eye to the entangling vines and finds he cannot begin to fathom the romance in their present situation. why humankind would use aggressive plants as impetus for tenderness is beyond him. perhaps the man lies through his perfect teeth, yet to what merit? even with his face mostly covered, the monster understands himself to be no prize. seizing such an opportunity sheerly for personal satisfaction would be undoubtably mad. what cause would provoke such a lie? they are (more or less) equally suspended in the same folly.

he's not happy about it. in fact, the creature is glowering and that much is apparent even with the hood and cowl. but his mislike of their circumstances does not supersede his desire to be quit of all this. the monster strains at the vines, just the once. partly in stubborn hope that this tug will be the one to finally free him. the rest to remind Louis he can't do much of anything with his arms constrained. )

I cannot. ( his eyes track the face of the stranger, wondering what sort of regret or recoil he will soon need to weather. too stubborn and aggrieved to attempt and spare a flippant stranger his hideousness, the creature leans down to make it somewhat easier for Louis to unveil him, if he really suspects a kiss to be their only cure. his posture steeled for a reaction, however poor, even though there is little the creature could do to defend a blow if it were to come. )

[bloodrops]

May I...? [ Louis asks him, politely, before he reaches to move the rags covering the Creature's face. sensing the deep reluctancy in his companion, he's careful when he does it.

slowly, the patched skin and unmatched eyes are revealed. Louis has seen enough dead meat to recognize it for what it is. his good humor is gone in an instant, but the gnarly sight doesn't horrify a vampire whose hungry daughter had a thing for rotting souvenirs. he only frowns to himself when he realizes how the cuts crossing his features remind him of the red slash across dead Lestat's neck, causing a hurtful flood of regret to re-emerge.

he draws his hand back quietly as he listens closely for any hint of the stranger's secret. the mistrust and the doubt are the same in his head that Louis can see on his face, but the more he hears, the less he understands. underneath the Creature's own thoughts he can detect the echo of faint voices that don't belong to him. the last voices of souls that aren't connected to this world anymore. who...? ]

Who did this to you? [ he asks softly, recognizing another wounded heart. ]

[creatura]

( in the monster's mind, there is only one end to this mess. fear, screaming, likely violence — if only because they are trapped so close. men are like animals, though they fancy themselves superior because of their empircal thought. it matters little, because when the chips fall and stress mounts, most would still flee before fight. men without options react instead of think. even if they are not the only one without any options. it is accepted fact, practically already written into the fabric of reality, as it is how it has always been. so the creature is frozen, expecting the worst possible result.

it is not what he gets. much like margot robbie in the wuthering heights press, the creature is unmoored. he does not entirely know what to do with the sympathy, the instant acceptance. even concern. Louis gets the full breadth of his baffled expression this time. is this man as drunk as the last? he's surely not so drunk that he can't comprehend an abominable creature when he sees one. this is really throwing the poor monster baby for a loop. )

It does not matter. ( since Louis is fishing, he'll surely get some swirling complicated thoughts about Dear Old Dad. Victor is probably always somewhere in the thoughts of the monster of his making. but the ghastly nature of his creation is not getting him out of these vines, Louis! so get on with it already! the monster even begrudgingly stoops to make his hideous face more accessible for the necessary tithe of affection. hopefully it is enough, or Louis will have to tippy-toe it. )

[bloodrops]

[ Louis's gentle eyes search his stitched face while he picks at his thoughts. the conflicted feelings the Creature has for his parent come across almost without effort. they're so strong and all-consuming. the narrative of his backstory isn't obvious or straightforward, but the mix of emotions fills the vampire with further compassion all the same – he too struggles with sorting out the hatred and love he feels for his own maker.

he could stay here and study the poor Creature's brain until he understood the meaning of the faint echoes and the various patches of skin coloring his face, but his companion seems impatient and he should put him out of his misery. Louis doesn't want to make him any more uncomfortable than he already is. ]

Is this okay? [ the confusion is met with nothing but certainty and kindness as Louis moves to make good of his promise to help. the vines strain against him as he leans up to him, but he's able to press his lips against his. the touch is light, barely even there. perhaps more of a warning of what's to come rather than the actual kiss yet. ]

[creatura]

( well yeah Louis, he is impatient. he is strung up like a hanged man over here, it isn't fun!!! it is not the first the monster has felt of restraints, though being tied down by flimsy vines is a bitter draught. he should be strong enough to free himself from this, if he was able to best the steel and chains Victor had kept him in. and yet he is prisoner to the whims of the Briar Lord. he is being punished for his refusal to comply, and that's not new either, which makes it rankle all the more.

the Creature finds the question foolish. suffice to say in ideal circumstances, he would not be up for a little kiss. his hands are tied, literally. his choice is to submit or let the vines take him. some part of him wonders what would happen if he did. would they falter eventually? or would they take him over, writhing and winding inside him? perhaps they would make him something else. a snare of vines and leaves, more plant than beast. how bad could being a tree be, really.

if it tempts him at all, it isn't enough. the fact Louis would be stuck here with him too might have something to do with that. he is not signing up to twin with this dummy for the rest of eternity. he hopes for a better life than one eternally rooted to the ground. so while there's a fleeting sense of discomfort — he is really not happy about this — he doesn't shy away.

it is a strange sensation, the lips of someone else on his own. Louis is not as warm as the monster would expect. it is a plain touch, truly, and yet any sort of touch is a bit of a marvel for something so grotesque. it stalls him out, just for a moment. then, to no ones surprise, the beast tries to pry himself free immediately, after slightest of surrenders. the plants aren't impressed so they don't bother to relent even an inch. the monster murmurs a sigh of discontent directly against the mouth pressed to his. it is NOT working 😭 did he kiss this handsome idiot for nothing??? )

[bloodrops]

[ that bad, huh? Louis's lips curl into a smile against the Creature's mouth as he waits for him to be done with the struggling. he should feel bad for being so amused by his discomfort, but it's only fair if he has to pretend he didn't hear himself being called stupid. ]

You want to give it another try? [ there was no affection to speak of, so no one should be surprised it didn't work. let him give it another go now that the Creature has had a second to grow used to the idea. the question is murmured softly before Louis leans into another kiss. the Creature is allowed plenty of time to avoid the upcoming affection if he so wishes. should he accept it, Louis will be sure to smooch him properly this time. he'll even slip his tongue between his lips. ]

[creatura]

( well... it wasn't great, no. entirely outside of the pain of vines tightening at every limb, and the discomfort of being close to a human when he and humans don't have a GREAT track record — it still didn't sponsor much in the way of anything. does frustration count? the gesture was too fleeting and mild, just skin on skin. the lips of his would be savior feel markedly different against his own, and yet there is a lack of warmth to them that seems odd. they are so different, and yet, in this they seem much the same.

the creature does not savor needing to try again. his understanding of kisses is limited; mostly lifted from pages of books. witnessed between the family he'd shadowed at the mill. usually these were more fond than fiery. affection does not necessarily imply heat, and yet the beast can summon no such fondness for a stranger. an aggravating stranger at that.

so perhaps heat is an easier offering after all. is it lustful, exactly? well, not quite. the pressure of the second kiss is more from dogged determination. an expression of frustration and desperation. and throw a generous splash of anger into the cocktail. to put them into this mess, to be so smug and condescending, despite both being equally trapped at this point. the kiss might be a bit bitey. bold to stick your tongue in that, Louis, but it does earn a ragged note of surprise and not-quite-dislike, so, it worked out.

the vines relent enough to grab Louis at the collar. they aren't loose yet. if more lip service is what it takes, then hauling him up to make it easier is just being practical. the creature would likely not have thought to sample the taste of the other's mouth without prompting, but now he tries it. Louis might lack warmth but his taste is rich. at least it means there is less teeth. )