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

[mountreal]

[ He knows Ilya likes to hear him talk dirty. Shane knows he's bad at it, Ilya tells him that all the time too, but he isn't too stupid to know that's part of the appeal for him for some reason. Ilya likes him when he's honest, when he just says what comes to mind. Shane reminds himself of that now and swallows. Braces himself. ]

Without a condom. Just your-- just your raw cock inside me.

[ He'd heard Ilya say it like that, sort of, once. A long time ago when Ilya had had a few shots with his team before coming to see Shane and had been talking messy in his ear before finally getting a condom out of the nightstand. He lifts his hips to help Ilya get them both naked, hoping he'd said the right thing, knowing he has when Ilya just watches him. Just stares at all his smooth skin half-buried in all these musty furs. Shane bites his lip, loving every moment of being taken in by him. Just watching him finally move towards him makes Shane let out a little whine of anticipation.

But who would he want to do this with? Her name flashes through Shane's mind, it's on the tip of his tongue before he bites it back. Just because he think he knows an answer doesn't mean he has to actually say it. He's finally learned that, at least in situations like this.

And if Ilya is telling the truth, it means he's never... Not even with Svetlana. ]

I only want you, too. Only you.

[ Ilya peppers kisses up his legs, up his inner thigh and Shane is holding his breath by the time the Russian takes his aching cock in his rough hand to stroke him. Shane's legs fall open as his heels drag farther up on the bed, opening himself up so Ilya can see where they're headed next. Where Shane desperately wants him. ]

You-- you think what you found will be enough? [ Shane's still not sure about that bottle of oil but his brain can't be hesitant right now. The question comes out too eager and he reaches down to stroke the side of Ilya's face, to card his fingers through his short curls. ] Fuck, Ilya, I need you...

cw: it's breeding kink but shaming himself

[coldcock]

( It's his favorite thing to hear Shane say the things he wants, to let that genuine honesty slip through. It's Shane letting down his walls, it's Shane easing up on that tight grip of control he keeps on himself. It's special and it's endearing in its own way. It's what kept Ilya hooked before and delights him now. It has him preening, smile somewhere between predator and love-struck: ) Good boy.

Yes, you're mine. So easy for me and desperate, ( Ilya croons, more talking than wanting to rile Shane up with the words but it's true. He can see the desperation in his boyfriends eyes, knows it mirrors in his own but Ilya's takes a different form. Shane is doe-eyed, trembling like a prey animal who can't contain himself and Ilya is a wolf drooling over him.

His hand tightens on Shane's cock on the upstroke, thumb rubbing over the tip as the other man grows wetter. ) I think so but with how wet you get, does it matter?

( It's teasing, it's a little mean. But he turns to press a kiss into Shane's palm, chaste and easy. He has to let go of Shane's arousal to reach for the vial with both hands. He uncorks it, is pretty sure that there's enough but he'll be able to find more. He asks as he pours the oil on his fingers, warming it up before he's trailing the pad of his index finger down Shane's taint, circles his hole and presses without pressing in. ) Can you handle my mouth on you, lyubimyy? I want you to come when I'm in you.

( Ilya is pretty sure with how hard he is, cock straining and tip red, he's not going to last very long. He's never done this before. He's had the oppurtunity but even with his hook-ups, the consequences hadn't been worth the hassle. The few times he'd had to slink off to a pharmacy to buy Plan B because a condom broke had been lesson enough. And as much as Ilya embraces that he's what some might call a slut, there's some things he's a bit of a romantic about. This is one of them. This is special. This is something he's associated with a future, a family. He knows he'll have to adjust a part of that mental model in the conventional sense -- he doesn't linger on the spike of arousal at the impossible thought of fucking a baby into Shane because what the fuck -- but the part of the future is the same.

He presses a kiss to Shane's thigh first, then noses at the base of his cock where the scent of his arousal is thickest. )

[mountreal]

[ Good boy. Shane's face flushes with a mixture of arousal and humiliation -- he's not a boy, he's a man, Ilya, just like you -- but another moan escapes him and he bites down on his bottom lip as Ilya continues. He tries terribly hard to stop proving the other right. He is easy, he is desperate. Those facts used to torture Shane, being so devoted to someone he wasn't sure would ever want him back.

Now, he's able to show him everything. To trust him completely with what he wants. To let his thighs flex when Ilya plays with the tip of his cock just the right way and Shane oozes in response, slicking up under Ilya's thumb until it all has Shane gasping, hips wriggling against the bed. He's an instrument being played and he knows he should chirp back, but all he can do is swear and moan: ]

Fuck, Ilya--

[ The way he says his name is like a prayer, like a benediction he's only lately earned the right to say. One he can't seem to say enough. But he actually cries out when Ilya pulls his hand off of him and Shane doesn't think he can stand the embarrassment until his mouth is suddenly dry watching Ilya coat his fingers with the oil that Shane can't allow himself to wonder about the origins of. It's easily the stupidest thing he's ever done, he decides somewhere in the back of his mind, but he wants this too badly to turn back now.

And something about the desperation is so fucking hot, especially when Ilya is teasing him with a touch, pressing like he's waiting to be let in. As if Shane can deny him. ]

I can handle it. Fuck, I want that too, I wanna feel you... [ He flexes his hips, lifting off the mattress slightly only to rut his hole back down against Ilya's fingers. Asking, giving permission. He can't have Ilya's cock in him until they've warmed up, he's always been too big for that, so stop wasting time and finger him already! His expression, his shiny dark eyes are begging for it, even as Ilya ducks down to nose at his cock. ]

I wanna feel you come. Inside me. I wanna know how it feels...

[ Even without being touched, another shiny bead of precum leaks from the tip of Shane's cock at the thought. He's still standing straight in the air, aching, as impatient as the rest of him. Betraying how little Ilya will be able to toy with him before Shane is in the danger zone. ]