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

[wenche]

( dumbly: )

There are no children...

( the words leave her before she realizes alicent is doing that thing that well-bred and graceful women can do with their words which twist and shimmer and don't reveal their meaning to brienne until she's well away again. why is it she always thinks of something clever to say long after the time has passed? )

I will escort you, if you desire.

( awkwardly even so, as she pats the snow off herself, leaving her hair an unkempt and wild straw nest. yes, septa roelle, i used the comb like you showed me. only, it does this no matter how much i try and tame it... )

[lambencies]

[ she has to bite her tongue not to make another cutting comment. how slow is this woman? when Brienne saved her, she thought the knight could be trusted with her life, but this conversation is making her rethink that conclusion. ]

Yes. I do. [ impatiently, when she's already moving. ] And while we walk I would like you to recount what happened after you left the sanctuary. Did you see that strange place again? And what about the beasts, were they the same?

[wenche]

I encountered no such place again.

( as they walk, she hesitates not from an unwillingness to share but because it had all been such a jumbled mess as such things often are. it's hard when your brain's on fire to sift through and recount details, but brienne supposes there is one obvious place to start: )

There was a demon in the tower. It cried like a babe, moved like water, and only strengthened when dealt a blow.

[lambencies]

How did you manage to defeat it?

[ the same tower as Agnete's? Alicent shudders when she remembers what horrors her beast unleashed in the fortress. this beast doesn't sound like it was any better. ]

You were brave to face such a threat.

[ she adds, belatedly, reminding herself that her knight is not completely useless. ]

[wenche]

( if either of them were men this conversation might go quite differently. but brienne feels little pride to protect, and alicent's prudent counsel in that strange place had impressed her. she also feels little flattery, and mistrusts alicent's supportive comment almost entirely.

so she does not lie or massage the truth: )

We did not defeat it. Only delayed it so that Steve Harrington could destroy the seed.

( she lets that sit for a moment, but gestures across the room to where steve is, hale and whole and possibly dissociating. )

He perished in the act, and I had to carry Cellar Spider out. She exhausted herself in the fight. They two were the brave ones, for they wore no armor and yet protected me and each other.

( brutal truth, brienne's greatest weapon that she often turns upon herself: )

My sword did nothing but make the beast more dangerous.

[lambencies]

[ Alicent's expression is flooded with worry as she glances over to Steve living and breathing. has her knight lost her mind or did a reanimation truly take place? weird things do happen here. her hands curl into tight fists as she tries not to let the impossible information overcome her. ]

Your sword delayed the beast and made the victory possible, Lady Brienne. You played a vital part in it, even if you could not save Steve.

[ not a comment to praise her, exactly. a polite correction. as her knight Brienne should learn to take her due and stand straight. ]

It frightens me to think that such a beast is still out there. We must do everything we can to strengthen the fortress and to maintain the peace.

[ her resolve sounds weak and desperate even to her own ears. the winter shows no signs of ending, which means they are only headed toward more hardships. if it's true that their spirits affect the world around them, they will be in trouble. ]

[wenche]

( brienne frowns with confusion and a little discontent. alicent has a... particular way of looking at this situation that she had not expected, and it chafes against what she'd initially thought of her lady at first. but perhaps this is pragmatism, of a sort. )

Many worked together for the good of the castle. But there is much here that... discomfits me.

( but she will not argue that her sword was useless, and that the strength of the castle may be futile. brienne doesn't count herself clever when it comes to the social workings of people, especially ones she can't seem to understand. but she points out: )

It is difficult to promote peace when strife comes from within. I am ignorant of the events before my arrival, but this conflict with Agnete seems to have fractured much of the trust among the other exiles.

[lambencies]

Yes. What was done to Agnete was a transgression in their eyes. An old friend gone for good. No council was held to decide on a course of action.

[ she regrets that it all happened so chaotically. not least because her own sons got involved and she couldn't do anything to help them. ]

Aegon nearly lost his life.

[wenche]

( she means to ask, to finally know what it is they speak around when talking of agnete, but it flees her mind.

brienne can be calm and is often rather stoic outwardly, but this is difficult to hear and yet not show surprise and dismay. she knows what it looks like for a mother to have to bear the loss and the uncertainty of her children's fates. still: )

I cannot fathom the distress it must cause you, to have your sons here.

[lambencies]

[ Alicent smiles at her weakly, not knowing how to react to such genuine sympathy. when the ladies at the court were kind to her family, it was out of duty and politeness, a soft way to swear allegiance to the crown. nothing personal about it. ]

Thank you, Lady Brienne. Their presence here worries me, especially the King's, but I could not claim that it hadn't brought me a sense of safety as well. Aemond is a fierce fighter, excellent with his sword.

[ and Aegon? crickets. ]

I trust we are all equally desperate to return home.

[wenche]

( that concept is not one brienne herself has remotely thought, and it does break her brain so thoroughly that she can do nothing but agree, vaguely: )

Yes.

( aemond does seem capable and sharp, she supposes. but home... brienne can't begin to wrap her head around the idea of returning. )

Of course, my lady.

[lambencies]

[ Brienne sounds distracted and something about that bothers her, but now that her thoughts have turned to the memory of home, there is little else that matters. ]

My daughter Helaena, the Queen, awaits us there. I pray to the Mother that she never ends up here. It is better for her to be at home, where she belongs, with her child...

[ she nearly uses the plural, children, and has to stop herself. there's been so much going on that she hasn't had the time to grieve everything that happened. the sentence is left hanging, abruptly finished, as Alicent walks on in silence. ]

[wenche]

( brienne follows along, loping her big pine trunk legs easily. her progress is quieter than usual without her armor to clink and clank along the way. )

May the Mother keep her.

( alicent's worry does pull at something more specific that's weighed on brienne since finally coming to her senses inside the lonely fortress. it takes up the rest of her time not spent heeding ser jaime, following his charges, and trying to learn of the crucible's ways. )

I have thought the same, for my liege lady's daughter who I sought back home. I worried that I might find her here, but I've found no trace of her. ( awkwardly, and quietly almost as if speaking her worry to herself: ) She is very young...

[lambencies]

[ Alicent looks to her in silence, studying the worry on her knight's serious features. her sympathies are immediately with the highborn lady who doesn't know where her daughter is or how she is doing. ]

The poor girl. I'm sorry. What happened?

[ did she elope with some foolish man? unfortunately, that's what she first assumes. ]

[wenche]

The realm was in disarray, and she— Sansa. She was a hostage of the Crown, but my lady's son, Robb— he was the king in the North. He refused to try and treat for his sisters' return so my lady in defiance charged me with escorting a prisoner of his, of high value, back to Kings Landing to exchange for her and the younger one, Arya. We escaped in the night before King Robb could prevent it.

( a poor trade, on paper, but catelyn had just lost two sons in one fell swoop. she had not intended to lose more children.

is it really treason if robb was kind of a pretender king in open rebellion? and okay sure she might mention jaime as said prisoner here, only it is very clear this is hard for her to recount. her failures seem to pile up around her, and this is only one in a messy pile of them. there's a reason she hasnt used catelyn's name; if she did she might break apart and never fit back together.

this is easily the most words brienne has strung together since arriving, and she struggles with the next, obviously deeply affected still. her love for her lady breaks her voice gently, as if the loss is still fresh. as if she knows precisely what her lady looked like after those cowards cut her down. )

But my lady was betrayed and murdered before we arrived, and Robb with her, leaving no more Starks for the girls to return to.

( her hand fists at her side where oathkeeper should sit if this bizarre dream had not left her unarmed and armorless. the motion settles her all the same so that she can finally answer: )

Now it is said her younger sister is dead, but Sansa fled the Capital. I have pursued her, because I promised her. I promised Lady Catelyn I would see her daughter to safety...

( now she scrubs a hand at the tears on her face and then winces, for the healed wounds pain her still, despite the tincture she procured from the apothecary. )