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Entry tags:
βπ« ππ«π¬π±π₯π’π― π‘π¦πͺπ’π«π°π¦π¬π« π΄π¦π±π₯ βπ’π©π©π¦π°π₯ π¦π«π±π’π«π±π¦π¬π« π [TDM]
Welcome to the Test Drive!
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.
GAME PAGES
i.
arrival:
Well darlings, don't you panic
arrival:
Well darlings, don't you panic
(warnings:drugs)
It begins with a nightmare, the details of which have already slipped through your fingers. Only the curling echo of its dread lingers in your chest. Something has snapped you out of a catatonic state: the shudder of rain and thunder battering against the window, a cold chill running down your spine, or perhaps the smell of dinner stirring your appetite. Whatever it may be that brings you back to your senses, you find yourself in an old moldering estate lost to a bygone time.
You are not alone. A warm hand touches your arm as someone checks in to see if you're alright before they pull away.
You're in the middle of someone's cozy gathering: a humble gathering spread throughout the entire wing of some manor. The warm glow of lamplights and candles light the way around a cluster of interconnected rooms. Flickering shadows conceal the peeled edges of the wallpaper. The pungent scent of dinner and smoke layers over the dampness of the wood. There is the feeling of forgotten opulence made anew by its current occupants: finely carved and ornate furniture sits askew in some places, threadbare rugs layered over one another, melted candle wax piled on the corners of mantles and sconces.
There are no serving staff, only eclectic guests of mixed status who look no more belonging to their surroundings than you. Like any house party, there are those open to mingling with strangers and will fill you in on your situation. Others turn in on their huddles and cannot otherwise be bothered to include you in their company. You learn you've been at the Lonely Fortress anywhere between a morning and a fortnight. It's not uncommon for new arrivals to take a while to come around. All that matters is you're present, you're alive, and you should try to enjoy the night.
oh fantasy, feed me!
If you're feeling out of sorts, getting some food in you will help. The dining hall is there for those who follow the aroma. Long draped tables are dressed with various tiered plates and platters of a feast fit for a woodland lord. Attendees graze the dressed tables for bits of roast, bites of vegetables, and the occasional sweet or bread roll. Carafes and pitchers scattered up and down the tables hold fortified wines, spruce ales, ciders, and fruit punches. The food is losing its warmth, but even just a nibble will help ground you from the foggy haze you've stumbled out of.
Smalltalk is easy to come by here. If you've just come to, someone might be nudging you to pass the olives. Get to know your neighbor. Eat, drink, mingle.
a jump to the left
If dinner doesn't suit you, the stronger liquor can be found in one of several interconnected parlors where groups of people have collected to socialize and entertain one another. There's gambling in the Smoking Parlor where people bet away favors or trinkets over card games. A haze of herbal smoke swirls overhead, lending to the room's abnormal warmth.
The Velvet Parlor will suit those looking for a more intimate mood. The center floor before the hearth is piled with rugs, blankets, and pillows for patrons to laze over. In a dark corner, a masked man plucks away a druzy melancholic tune on a pear-shaped instrument, lending to a subdued ambiance. Small groups convalesce among couches and pillows as they imbibe in mood dizzying substances meant to soothe frazzled souls. Partaking in these drinks might leave you feeling a bit loose lipped. Join them in drinking games such as two truths and a lie, charades, and truth or forfeit.
a step into the night
If the party isn't to your liking, there are dark corridors aplenty to get turned around in. The Fortress is a maze to navigate at night. No lights beyond the party line the corridors, forcing those to wander by lamp or candle. The further away from the revelry, the colder and damper it gets. The sounds of the storm raging outside howls through the hall, rattling doors, and other unexplainable bumps in the night. The deeper in the dark you wander, the more paranoid you begin to feel. Is there something lurking after you in the dark? Beyond the battering of the rain, the air is eerily still. Occasionally, you may hear the whispers of feverous ritualistic chanting echoing in the dark. No matter how hard you try to follow it, you are unable to find the source.
If your first instinct was to try to leave, you'll find locked gates and a spitting rain. It's not worth traveling in these conditions, so you might as well stay inside for a little while until you can see where you're going.
ii.
fight or flight:
Madness takes its toll
fight or flight:
Madness takes its toll
(warnings: monster transformation/body horror (bug adjacent), violence/gore, aphrodisiacs, sex, potential for dubcon. )
Later into the night, something begins to feel off. Call it a gut feeling, a primal instinct. A loud, monstrous shriek pierces the air that leaves your ears ringing.The lights flicker and snuff out, plunging the fortress into a darkness. All revelry tumbles to a dead stop as one by one the light begins to return. The warm tone of the night shifts cool as a few brazen souls step out into the hall to heed unearthly cries only to never return. Commotion rattles the walls as the monster hunts through the dining hall, leaving a pile of crumpled bodies with the marrow sucked from their bones.
A monster has crashed the party (or perhaps it was summoned). Lonely, human-like cries slither through the halls, beckoning victims into the maw of a ghastly beast by mimicking the sounds their most cherished loved ones. Shaped like a large, overgrown humanoid centipede, it scuttles through the inky dark on dozens of spindly hands, hunting by sound alone. Those who hear its cries may need to fight an unearthly compulsion to return the call and beckon it near.
"Servitor," an old man's grave whisper slips into everyone's minds. "Contain your fear, find sanctuary, do not make a sound. Go now."
rise and scatter
Without a word, everyone retreats as quickly and quietly as possible. Doors are shut, shuddered, and locked. Those who are unable get to safety quietly are followed and spirited away off into the darkness to be crushed and consumed by the unseen creature. People barricade the doors, others open the windows to let the sound of the rain to muffle their noise. Secret passages behind the tapestries are unveiled as small groups pair off to sneak off to find refuge elsewhere.
No one speaks, but their voices slip into each other's minds. The soft murmurings of more seasoned residents urge those capable of hunting the monster to get to the armory and for the rest to split into smaller groups. The monster needs to be driven out and the rest need to prevent the infection of hysteria. Here, comfort is only found in numbers, safety is not guaranteed.
Choose wisely which path you take and who becomes your lockdown partner. Not everyone will make it through the night. Do what you need to survive. Don't speak. Don't panic.
rose tint my world
If you chose sanctuary: be prepared to wait a while in the room you've hunkered down in or risk exposing yourself to the horrors lurking the corridors. Occasionally, you can hear whatever it is hunting; the skittering of legs and the sorrowful cry that tempts the weak-hearted. If you hear a loved one crying out for you, it's not recommended to heed it.
Not everyone fearfully hunkers down to wait the night, though. You may find yourself in mixed company who take on stranger measures to distract themselves. Instead of huddle quietly, waiting for death to stalk them, their comforting beins to devolve into quiet and desperate carnal pleasures. Soft hands paw over worried faces before tucking a candy into their mouths. The sentiment here is clear: don't ask too many questions, just eat the candy and go with the flow. Its properties can be swiftly felt: a relaxant and a mild aphrodisiac. The people in here are trying to fight the spread of panic with the distraction of intimacy. The veil of rainfall drowns out soft unkept moans and labored breaths. If you're unwilling to participate in a light horrorgy, none here will compel you, but it's probably better to find a different corner to quell your hysteria.
a feeling of unnameable dread
If you join the monster hunt: you can pick up a weapon from the armory. The Fortress provides an eclectic collection of premodern arms suited for the most modest of novices to the most sporting of hunters. No firearms, you'll be in close quarters and a bullet won't be very effective against this servitor. You get a torch and either a blunt or bladed weapon. Whatever you take, hopefully you know how to use it.
The servitor is sensitive to light and sound. Some hunters are tasked with luring it away by playing a high-stakes game of marco polo. Others who feel more equipped to defeat it, might find fire to be particularly useful. Be weary of other horrors bumping around in the dark. The night can play tricks on the senses, and just believing something might be lurking in the dark might briefly manifest your horrors into reality.
iii.
respite:
Down the river of night's dreaming
respite:
Down the river of night's dreaming
An announcement of the servitor's defeat comes in the mere hours before dawn. Those who have holed themselves away begin to emerge. Anyone who perished at the hands of the monster will have left nothing behind but smears of blood where they met their demise. You're told their bodies have been taken by the bramble, but little more is divulged. Not everyone here is at your beck and call for answering questions.
The overall mood is somber and exhausted, leaving the once raging storm outside to dwindle down to tranquil trickle of rain. For now, it's to begin winding down the night for a much needed rest and recovery. It's time to clean up for the night, tend to any wounds, and find a place to rest.
Medical supplies are far from any modern counterparts, but the resident herbalist can spare salves, tinctures, and clean bandages along with any tonics to quell any lingering weariness. The first night after awakening can be difficult, riddled with nightmares. If you do not take up the offer of a sleeping tonic, you may find yourself sleepwalking.
Despite the size, private bedchambers are in short supply. Newcomers may find themselves paired up to share quarters or fighting to keep their space to themselves as more filter in looking for a place to sleep. If you're not willing to share a room or a bed, there are plenty of other spots to curl up into and rest for a few hours; however, seasoned exiles warn that those who insist on remaining alone tend to have a rougher night's sleep.
The overall mood is somber and exhausted, leaving the once raging storm outside to dwindle down to tranquil trickle of rain. For now, it's to begin winding down the night for a much needed rest and recovery. It's time to clean up for the night, tend to any wounds, and find a place to rest.
Medical supplies are far from any modern counterparts, but the resident herbalist can spare salves, tinctures, and clean bandages along with any tonics to quell any lingering weariness. The first night after awakening can be difficult, riddled with nightmares. If you do not take up the offer of a sleeping tonic, you may find yourself sleepwalking.
oh no, they were bunkmates
no subject
"Hm." That noise sounds like a pause should be a warning.
Then, Aemond's hands slap onto his knees as he pushes himself back onto his feet. A rush of drowsiness hits behind the eyes, but the prince pushes forward to rounds to the foot of the bed and grab Billy by the ankles and some of the furs to peel him clean from the mattress like an old ratty duvet.
no subject
His back hits the floor with a whump as he kicks out at Aemond's knee. Then he's lumbering upward, pissed off as he lunges for him, goes to grab at him and and throw him to the floor.
"I figure you don't know who the fuck I am," Billy says, as if he's someone. "I'm Billy, and I'll rip your fucking head off. Capiche?"
no subject
"Billy, that's all you got?" Aemond snorts, unable to directly evade the football tackle. His heels dig in, buckling back to hold himself upright as he thwaps a hand across Billy's forehead to push him off like an unwieldy toddler. He growls, trying to shove him off balance with the buck of his hips. Feeling rather unbalanced himself, but pressing on. "Billy is the name of a picknose squire— a nobody!"
If he's going to be common, he should at least have a title. Billy the Bullheaded, maybe.
Aemond makes a grab for the other man's shirt collar to wrestle him in before he manages to lose and topple over. "It's you who don't know who I am. And you who rue picking a fight you can't win—"
no subject
The insult lands like rat shot; the insult is hazy, but the intention stings. And who the fuck does this asshole think he is? Talking like some sort of dick bag in a history soap? Billy's so fuckin' over it.
They go down, and Aemond gets the upper hand when they hit the stone floor. "Nah, I know exactly who you areβ a little bitch!" Billy's head twists and he bites Aemond's hand, bucking upward at the same time.
no subject
"I —" he struggles to correct as his hips counterbrear down, struggle clear in his voice as he tries to pin his opponent down like a fish flopping on a slippery dock. A crude knee pinning against Billy's thigh to pin him down like cattle as he rips his hand free only to shove it back into his mouth to seize him by the jaw from inside and out.
Look him in the eye, Billy, and tell him which one of them is the bitch now, hm?
Where was he? He huffs, "am Prince Aemond Targaryen, first of his name, and I would do you the mercy of first slicing you nape to navel with mine own blade before setting you aflame. For my dragon would give you no mercy in the face of such filthy disrespect."
no subject
Four fingers slide in over his tongue, hook behind his teeth, holding like a bit, like he's a fucking animal being held down for branding. It's so outside of the rulebook, Billy stares at him. It scratches something in the back of his skull, something meant to be secret, something reminiscent of stealthy nights and fake IDs, things that don't see the light of day.
Billy bites down, harder, blunt teeth grinding down against finger bones, pressing cruel little indents into the skin that'll linger, bruising bone.
It's hard to pay attention to the prince-blah, first-of blah tirade, but β something about a dragon.
Around Aemond's fingers Billy asks, "Buddy. Where'd you find dust?" That's just about when he gets an arm free and swings his fist hard against the side of Aemond's skull, bashing his ear and hopefully disorienting him as Billy trashes, spits his fingers out and drives his forehead against Aemond's nose.
no subject
Something is about to give when a fist clocks him upside the head. He releases Billy's jaw as the blow staggers him, nearly enough to avoid the skull smashing into his face. "Stay down—" He catches the brunt of it with the palm of his hand, smearing blood and spit across Billy's face to try and push him back down.
His body is already sunsetting, the bend of his head feeling all the heavier, he doesn't even realize how much he's listing to the side until he staggers to catch his own fall. A knee lashes out, connecting into the softness of Billy's stomach before he tips off of him. Growling and indignant, within this entire encounter started by none other than himself, the peasant is the obvious one to blame. As is his fading state, he's crawling on his hands and knees across the stone floor to get distance and eventually his feet back under him before the angry dog tries to swipe again.
start the countdown to aemond beating the shit out of billyβ±οΈ
"No, no, really man. Come back with your hook up, I'll take powder or tabs."
Yeah. Billy wants to see a fucking dragon.
He hauls Aemond up, one hand on the back of his shirt, the other sliding into his silky hair and gripping hard. What a fucking weirdo? Maybe he's a tweaked out local. Billy stumbles while he drags him out, out, out of his goddamn room. Aemond will find his body dumped down the hallway, and he's left with a particularly hard kick to his side. Honestly, he's lucky Billy doesn't have a goddamn sharpie or he'd have a dick on his forehead.
soon...π
How fucking humiliating. If only the rage he felt in that moment could cut through the milky exhaustion that coats his bones. Instead, it boils inside of him as he begins to shake. Silvery air slips like a veil over the sides of his face, hanging his head a moment as every muscle clenches in to withhold a scream.
This place is a joke, this kid was a joke. Only worthy of receiving his divine seething rage. His hand aches, the taste of blood in the back of his mouth. Thoughts consume him of bashing Billy's head against a wall, feeling his bones crack between his fingers, setting him aflame.
Silence passes and the shaking stops. As easy as the flipping of a coin: on the brink of catastrophe to a sedated calm. He pulls himself up, shoulder dragging against the wall as his feet find themselves under him. He stumbles off into the night to find himself an emptier bed.