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π ππ¦π‘π΄π¦π«π±π’π― ππ¦π€π₯π±'π° ππ―π’ππͺπ¦π«π€ π [WINTER TDM]
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.
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
i.
rise:
A Dream's Beginning
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:
πThe 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.
πThe 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.
πThe 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
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
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.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.
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.
Outside, the snow begins to fall again. An omen that this winter is here to stay. Welcome to the real Martyr's Crucible.
no subject
Not really. Tonight though? Yeah. Why not? I've been freezing my balls off. ( something about Ilya just SCREAMS that he speaks locker room. so Steve is not shy about bringing up his sack for no particular reason. it is a terrible facet of boyhood that he will likely never grow out of. ) Like, 24-7. Couldn't get warm. For... days. A week maybe. I don't know, awhile.
( Steve waves a hand. Ilya is ostensibly brand baby new and yet Steve just assumes he gets how time can get slippery in a fucked up creepy castle you were transplanted in against your will. ) Shit like that happens here. ( Steve's tone fades a little, like he's thinking a little too much about the breadth of said shit. don't worry about it. he's fine!!! )
no subject
either way, he lets out a genuine laugh. ) Back home, this cols is nothing but there is something about this place.
( something that makes him feel like something is wrong, even in the warm, fire-lit rooms where people are dancing and happy. ) Shit like what? Bad weather? Bad weather happens everywhere. You just have to know how to-- ( he waves a hand, thinking, ) deal with it. Shock the system into thinking your balls are fine.
no subject
and... well... he's gonna have a big storm coming when it all hits, but Steve is not sure he can convince him either. sometimes you have to see it, feel it, to believe it. and knowing how shit works around the Crucible? well, it'll probably be sooner than later.
Steve's mood is a fickle mistress after horribly dying to a monster with endless mouths. he was kinda sliding out of their conversation to just lie prone in warm water and focus on the fleeting comfort that provided until Ilya suggests he just needs to deal with it. and while that's condescending as shit, it is also exactly what Steve wants. to deal with it. it seems perfectly reasonable to the 80s teenager that does not have a lot of practice with unpacking complex emotions. also, Ilya said balls, and this once again stirs the inner jock in Steve to life. earns an actual laugh this time, and the return of his attention. ) Oh yeah? Shock my system how.
no subject
hell, he's heading into a downward slope if age is to be considered.
the thought makes him frown and he lifts his mug of mulled wine to his lips, takes a sip. it warms him from the inside out, in the way he expects that the water might be warming more than his just feet if he was feeling braver. ) There's a trick we do.
Jump into warm water, then into something cold. Then back to warm. You'll feel like you're on fire but in good way. No more cold, sad balls. ( how many time can a guy talk about balls like they're personified? this is just the start. )
no subject
Steve is from Indiana. not Russia. but he still gets the concept. it used to be a right of passage to jump the quarry before homecoming. and while that was just going from somewhat cold to even colder, it does make the ritual seem strangely reliable. hot to cold to hot again. okay. one problem. )
It's just snow. ( jumping in the snow would be kinda cold, after he's been drenched in the world's most pathetic hot tub. but not that cold. especially if he just gets to go right back into the water after he's done. is this classic jock escalation just for the sake of it? well yes. jocks will be jocks. and jocks being jocks only makes jocks jock harder. )
no subject
maybe he's not, actually.
he grins, looking first at the brunette and then back over his shoulder at the courtyard. there's enough snow for this, he thinks. and plenty of room in the fountain. ) If you are scared, I will keep you company and go with you. Because I am nice guy and I think you will not be chicken then.
no subject
I'm not scared.
( there is no hesitation there. Steve has been scared of plenty of shit in his life. hell, the list is so long at this point, it'd probably be a small novel. snow? yeah, no, it's not even in the conversation. maybe it's just tried and true jock reverse psychology, but it doesn't matter either way. he's not scared. he's just not sure the challenge is worth his time. )
We do a lap around the courtyard or nothing. Otherwise it's chicken shit. ( and he's not getting out of his cozy half hearted hot tub for chicken shit!!! )