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

😅

[xsquad]

[ making out isn't something either of them ought to be thinking about in this moment, yet as the vines draw her in closer to the firm warmth of his body, rose can't help but let her gaze drop to this stranger's mouth. this unwitting good samaritan that she latched onto in a moment of desperation, who tried to help and wound up ensnared with her. she should apologize but a sharp, breathy yelp comes out instead as thorns scrape against the back of her legs as the vines coil tighter around them. ]

Okay, [ she breathes, hands fisting in the fabric at his shoulders, ] Okay. [ calm is difficult in this moment — as is focus as her gaze drips down again — but she's a professional award-winning actress. she can do this. this is just a scene. a nightmare of a scene. and once it's over she'll wake up and this will be nothing more than a barely recalled result of having passed out after a long, grueling day on set. ]

[babysitters]

( does not moving help? yes. and no. because while they're not more trapped, they're also not less trapped. it's a holding pattern, not an escape. but, besides the vines snarling somewhat tighter, there isn't any more of them. the pained noise Rose just made makes it sort of hard to think, the big damn hero in Steve does NOT appreciate people getting hurt. and call him excessively 80s (because he is), but it's EVEN worse when it's a girl.

she's so close right now. the heat of her skin is burning right through him. she's pressed against him, there is NO NEED for imagination. and it's kinda been a long time he's been pressed against a beautiful girl. jesus he has to focus. Steve blinks owlishly at the plants, trying to understand what the hell is even happening. he notices the berries somewhere above their heads and somehow, it manages to click. )

Mistletoe. ( he says it like a-ha. it makes him feel like Henderson. that little twerp is always getting lightbulb moments. ) It's mistletoe. Crazy, evil, magic mistletoe. ( if mistletoe here is anything like the party favors back home, when his life was normal — then they can get out of this without anyone being strangled by a plant. he's so thrilled to have figured it out, it does not occur to Steve that this sounds like the world's STUPIDEST line. )

[xsquad]

[ to anyone else, perhaps it would, but this is rose landry. she's starred in films with wilder plots and became famous over night for playing a blue, shapeshifting mutant. evil mistletoe that demands they kiss or be strangled to death via rabid vines? makes considerable more sense than the plot of the latest x-squad movie.

rose huffs at the absurdity of it all, though. ] What an overused trope. Makes you wonder what goes on in the writer's rooms before the first script read.

[ wrongly assuming steve is also an actor. he's good-looking enough to easily be one, 80s vibe and all. ]

So? What are you waiting for? That's our cue. [ a nod to the mistletoe hanging above them. ] Kiss me.

[babysitters]

What? ( Steve says, in a half laugh. because... what??? writers room, script, cue?? say again? Steve has been through some shit on his own time, he can somewhat guess this is a weird way of trying to wrap her brain around the Everything that is Going On around here. but also... seriously, what???

part of him wonders if he should try and ... explain? get through to her? break her out of it??? but a.) who knows if that would even work and b.) the evil misteltoe is definitely NOT being controlled by some special effects guy backstage and will keep winding her up and hurting her if they don't do something. and she's got the spirit, even if she's a little confused. if he's gotta go on an apology tour after, well — he'd rather apologize for kissing her than have to apologize for watching her get murdered by an evil plant.

so, before Rose can even answer his not-question, Steve follows through on the suggestion. he's careful as he tucks his free hand at the back of her neck. just to make sure when he leans down to kiss her, his mouth lands exactly where he wants it to. Steve has NO CLUE what amount of kissing is required to get them out of this. if it will work at all. but he's not going to half ass it. just in case!!! 😤 )

[xsquad]

[ he's a good kisser, and so is she — or so she's been told by co-stars she's shared kissing scenes with in the past. young as she is, she's a seasoned pro, and she knows how to make a kiss look good for the cameras. she doesn't half-ass it either; if the vines or the directors or whatever the hell is in charge here wants a show, they'll get a show. rose even presses herself closer to the man whose name she doesn't even know once the brambles have unwound themselves from around her torso, allowing her to lean in closer and deepen the kiss. ]