ℑ𝔫 𝔞𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔡𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔰𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 ℌ𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𑁍 [TDM]

[gorelord]

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

premise
setting
faq
rules
glossary

i.
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

(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

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.

oh no, they were bunkmates

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.

Comments

[𝖕𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖊] aemond targaryen . hotd

[sapphyre]

a jump to the left

[ With the miserable rain and the dreaded lingering damp, Aemond isn't convinced he is not in Riverlands. One ruin traded for another, but the man he hunts doesn't lurk these halls. He'd feel it deep in the marrow if he was. None could convince him otherwise.

There are other concerns to attend to, plenty of them mounting for their place in the forefront of his mind. No time nor place for them. If he focuses too long, the rush might come to him as pure as the free fall. A feeling he cannot afford to grip him.

Instead, all his attention has poured into a familiar dagger sitting on the open table before him— his sole focus since the flint of the ruby caught his eye earlier in the night. How it left his belt is beyond him, but he's determined to entice it back in his care. It's a family heirloom, his by right.

Impatiently, his fingers tap along an overturned cup. The pile of dice tucked inside isn't the best roll, but it only needs to be better than the opponent across from him. There's an edge of hostility in his rapping, even though the curl in his lip almost makes it seem like he's smiling. All he needs is to fool his opponent into bowing down. Get under their skin. ]

Do you dare to call my bluff, or should I call yours?

[ Maybe there's a hint of something, maybe it's nothing. His confidence is an immovable force as if he is willing it to be true. ]

a feeling of unnameable dread

(ooc; thinking this one could have a failed quick-time event where the floor dives out and dumps them in the undercroft. lmk if you're down for that or nah. )

[ He was on his way to tracking the thing, until it slipped away from him. This region of the fortress is puddled with rain, a long stretch of windows looks out into the void of a skyless night. With every step forward, Aemond can feel the sodden wood give way beneath the heel of his boot. No good, but neither is rushing forward. The thrashing of rain masks the weight of his steps, pushing deeper into the unknown for something that didn't want to be seen.

Through the veil of rainfall, a noise creeps through. Not the aged moan of this moldering keep, but something else. He stops, head turned. Waiting and listening until the visitor repeats their mistake. Something moving in the dark, could it be his mark?

Aemond bends to one side, snuffing out his torch with a soft hiss. The other hand flexes around the pole of a spear— not the first choice for weapon, but a wiser one to combat a predator animal such as this one alleged. Blackfyre is missing from his belt, but that's a different matter for a later time.

His back slips against the wall, head tipped as he tracks the movement closer. The wood here is too weak, it threatens to creak and crumble under every other step. The thing wandering here is too small for a monster, but— a skittering noise patters faintly across the ceiling overhead as a muffled warbled cry follows. The beast, it seems, lurking on the floor just above.

Another soft creak and the prince's arms lash out, strong commanding hands snatch whatever unsuspecting soul is in the room with him. Short and quick, the heat of his body firmly presses them up against the wall with the shaft of his spear barricading them still. ]

Shh. [ His shush can barely be heard above the thrashing of rain. The monster moves again, enticed by the commotion with feet thudding above them. ]

down the river of night's dreaming

[ Bitter herbs cloy his tongue, but the warmth of the drink soaks into him on his way back upstairs. No clue what hour of the night it is or how far away until dawn. An eternity's been spent wandering the halls with no better sense of direction than which he started with.

A bitter part of him yearns to stumble upon the marred blackened walls of Harrenhal. A wish ungranted. Not even the drowsiest of tonics can kill the rampant urging of his thoughts, teetering around an unsettling chill that's yet to lift the weight off his throat. If he had spent less time thinking and more going in the right direction, perhaps he would have made it. Instead, the room Aemond slips into is not the one he'd claimed.

Not like he'd be able to tell, having been assigned it in a listless state.

In the dark, it's as good as his bedroom. Quietly, he strips down from his layers, wading until his shin brushes a bedframe. The weight of his body sinks the edge of the bed as his other hand draws back a sheer curtain wide enough to crawl his body through. It folds forward with a dead thud against the mattress. Gradually, his body softens with a sigh, inhaling the scent of stale sheets.

He's yet to realize he's not alone. ]

wildcard/etc.

(any prompt can be prose or brackets, your pref. happy to wildcard it up, let me know what you're thinking with a ping wherever you can reach me or coffinmate.)

a feeling of unnameable dread

[decorative]

[The Chevalier tries to be composed at all times. He must appear aloof and cavalier so that he can draw people into his web. Unfortunately any poise he once had tumbled away as soon as the lights flickered out and monsters began to wander the halls. His hair and eyes are damp as, shivering, he creeps through the darkness, searching for a place to hide.

He instinctively lets out a shriek when he is grasped, but freezes as soon as he sees that it isn't some beast gripping him. With the Chevalier's heart pounding, he stares wide eyed at the young man. Obediently the Frenchman gulps down any sounds that threaten to splutter out of him and patiently waits until it's clear that he's safe to speak. Albeit quietly. Cautiously he leans forward to speak against Aemond's ear.]

We should hide... [A hopeful presumption. They are a team now. They're going to work together. This stranger is going to keep the Chevalier safe.]

[sapphyre]

[ The prince is a babe sitter as much as this man is a capable hunter. The moment crawls along as both wait for danger to pass. In that long moment, Aemond's bright and furious eye remains locked on the Chevalier's, a look alone that would smite him for speaking out of turn. If only. The stranger is not his responsibility, but he could get them both slaughtered yet.

When the danger passes, his hold sloughs away to reassess his surroundings. Through the rain patter, faint pattering of many hands skitter away for a new victim to lure. As the Chevalier's warm breath hits his ear, his head flinches further away before he parts from the man altogether. Reassessing as he scans the other man up and down. Hm. Certainly not a fighter— how had the other man done it?

A beat before Aemond's voice slips into the other man's mind, pointed and direct. His presence is firm, unwavering given their circumstances. ]

Return to the others, you're no use out here.

[decorative]

[The words forced into the Chevalier's mind forces him to shiver. It's unnerving, unpleasant and he isn't practiced enough to respond in kind, especially while blood pumps loudly in his ears and he tries to track the lethal monster above him. He responds in a furious, hushed whisper.]

I am trying! You think I wish to be wet and cold and about to be torn apart by some horrific monster? [He spreads his arms out wide. He knows he does not look like a warrior. He looks like a damsel. So save him.]

[sapphyre]

[ So, that worked. Interesting. Annoying that it wasn't responded in kind. Aemond raises his hand to clap across the Chevalier's mouth before he loses an edge of a whisper and draws the servitor towards its next meal. The rainfall provides so much cover, and he is not in a position now to fight it with a civilian too unpredictable to be caught up in the mix.]

Have you considered making less noise? [ Unfortunately, he's not the sort of prince that know how to handle a damsel. The Chevalier might be shit out of luck, as they say. He'll wait this out, as long as it takes. In an endless night in a strange world, he has the time to do so for them both. ]

down the river of night's dreaming

[exarchest]

[ the fight with the beast pushed Rainer to his limits. an unknown enemy with unknown powers, only foreign strangers on his own side. without modern weapons at hand it was truly a clumsy hassle. he would have called it comical if humor wasn't beyond him in this state. injuries were a question of when and how, not if. considering the technology he's used to, their survival was a miracle from his point of view.

and just when he thought the worst of the adrenaline had left him, he can hear someone entering the room and his pulse quickens once more. he's in the bed, resting his injured knee against the cold wall, too exhausted to move, but the old sword they gave him is within a reach. he holds his breath and listens.

rustling, slow footsteps – Rainer had refused the sleeping tonic, leaving his senses clear enough to tell him that this person isn't a threat. but this is going to be very awkward. ]

I'd appreciate your name before we get any more intimate.

[sapphyre]

[ Aemond's eye pops open in the dark, body tensed with rising hackles as it fights against the tonic. Without digesting the words spoken to him, his mind is already stumbling over conclusions to an encounter that sees this stranger ejected from his bed (because this has to be his bed, there is no other possible truth.)

A moment deliberating. The situation he's found himself in, stripped from what he's known and entitled to. This is not his keep, he has not claimed a seat here for there is none to claim. All who dwells here are mere scavengers picking at resources, and so he must defend his own.

Abruptly, he shoves himself upright on his palms and sucks a breath through his nose. Don't make him find a weapon, he's eepy. ]

Get out, I've claimed this bed as my own.

[exarchest]

And how have you claimed it?

[ down, boy. Rainer groans tiredly, too exhausted to deal with another nightmare today. the easiest option would be to roll off the bed, but his pride prevents it. he was here first. ]

I'm telling you now, the only answer that will get me out of this bed is telling me you pissed in it.

[sapphyre]

[If he were Aegon, don't think he wouldn't start pissing right then and there. A hound marking his territory. That level of pettiness is fortunately beneath him, which leaves them at an unfortunate impasse.]

So you choose to speak to me with insolence. [ Big words for someone who has no ways or means to enforce his house or title. Alas,] I will fight my claim, if needed be.

[ His pride is bigger.]

jump to the left

[longlegs]

[ Please decide the outcome all you want because I don't actually know how this is played I just want this prompt ok thanks ]

Hmm. Which one's gonna embarrass you more when you lose?

[ She arches her brows, bites her lower lip after the challenge; all in good humor, she'll argue, with the smile poorly hidden under that bite. The girl loves a blade and stepped into this place without her favorite one, so how could she resist? Sure, anyone could point out all the ways in which the one they're playing for is nothing like her beloved butterfly knife... and then Cellar would present to the jury that they should shut up, it's shiny. ]

[sapphyre]

( it's liars dice or maybe a version of liar's dice i made up because i didn't actually read the rules. either way...)

[ He should just take it, it belongs to him. He peeled out of the ash before his withering brother. He held it on his belt as a symbol of his duty. A duty lost here in this strange place Aemond is not unconvinced isn't an elaborate dream while he withers to madness in a swamp.

A dream, a nightmare? The setting has him at a disadvantage, so play along he must. The girl is not the thief, but she is the thing standing in his way from claiming it without a fuss. Tap, tap, tap. His fingers continue to drum. Eye rolling with dull amusement at the taunt.

He takes a breath, swallowing down a stiff anger to not look so eager. His attitude shifts again, like the adjustment of a glove and smiles. ]

The only one facing humiliation is you. [ He can't become embarrassed, he made it illegal. ] Say you win, would you even know how to hold it?

[ Not because she's a girl, but maybe because she's a girl that looks like would snap from a strong gust of wind. He can only be fair. ]

[longlegs]

[ She frowns, pretending to scrutinize him — there's plenty she could actually be looking at and wondering about, from his hair to the color of one eye, to whatever story is behind him needing to cover the other, the way he carries himself to the affinity for some ancient looking weapon — but she's just playfully building herself up. If he can't be embarrassed, she'll be embarrassing for him, adjusting her posture with a new wave of energy, hand snug over her cup. ]

I could answer, but I think I'm just gonna have more fun showing you. 'Cause like, actions speak louder than words, right? [ A one-shoulder shrug. ] Anyway, I call.

its only funny if he loses tbh

[sapphyre]

[ So fine, be that way. Aemond is convinced his hand is the winner, if only that he refuses any other outcome to befall upon him. There is a reason why he doesn't gamble, nor does he find much of the thrill in chance. Now if this were a fine game of cyvasse or anything that follows some form of strategy, there would be no question to his victory. ]

So be it.

[ Disappointing. He wanted this to be easy, but that doesn't mean he still won't win. With a belittled sigh seething out of his nostrils, Aemond adjusts back in his chair and flips open his cup to reveal his somewhat sub-par pile of dice. She only has to do worse than him. She only has to be full of shit. ]

a feeling of unnameable dread. let’s lose the floor.

[hedoniste]

( there’s no weapon or torch in gwen’s hands — she hadn’t joined the hunt on purpose so much as found herself unable to seek sanctuary behind doors locked fast and strangers that don’t know her voice, her ability to wield it dulled by the separation and the higher than already-usual strenuousness of doing so—

she is trapped between aemond and the wall in a moment, and he probably thinks that the aborted breath she was drawing in was meant to be a scream.

it was not. she is still weighing her options, conscious of the spear. her high heels dangle from one hand, far quieter there and her bare feet far steadier, no sort of weapon unless she’s really desperate, the cold, puddled water chilling her from toes to tip. he’s tall enough and she was startled enough that the position they’re in is a precarious one to hold — she can’t quite get her footing, up on the toes of one foot, trying not to slip,

the angle’s all wrong. when she slips, it’s her weight that bears them down through the breaking floor. )

time for the tutorial level

[sapphyre]

[ He's not out here skulking around the dark to mind fools. He'd much rather peel it back to find the thing that screeches like his mother and wails like his sister. Cut out the noise at the throat. Perhaps then he will feel victory in something that has long gone hungry.

Perhaps it would have been the better option to let her go. Let this one stumble ahead into an ugly fate and reap the reward of the monster exposing itself to receive his spear.

Before any decisions can be made, the tired groan of the wood ramps up to a violent snap—

Aemond's breath catches his lungs as the void swallows them up. His free hand scrapes along the wall, unable to hook into anything. Nope. Straight into the water.

The cistern echoes with their flailing. It's not shallow enough to break Aemond's knees but not deep enough to spare them. He staggers, getting his feet under him. It's impossible not to make a noise, splashing around while trying not to lose grip of his weapon or risk losing it at the bottom of a black pool. The woman is on her own, or they're in this together. Either way, the servitor above has heard the commotion and it is coming. ]

[hedoniste]

( it never enters her head to trust him. that she’s right is entirely separate from what that lack of impulse might say about her —

but then again, nothing around them suggests anyone with an impulse to believe in the innate good of strangers is going to make it far here. she’s not thinking, specifically, about any of that: she’s thinking that she can hear the commotion, that the sound of something that’s neither of them is coming, and that the priority of the man who’d grabbed her is patently his weapon and not her safety. fair enough. they don’t know each other.

her thin dress tangles around her knees as she hauls herself to her feet, gripping her heels white-knuckled with one hand as she reaches up the other to aemond’s face, her eyes when she locks gaze with him huge with fear and her jaw set. the sound of her voice echoes into his chest, a grip in his gut, )

I’m important to you, ( she says, reverb echoing this moment into many, entangling him in desperation threaded through her efforts to craft a certainty that this is true, that it has always been true. behind his eyes, past his thoughts, the kind of foundational truths that so rarely go examined, ) You need me.

( there’s something haunted about her; something haunting about her melodic words and cold fingers, her voice surround sound and shared breath. emphatic. the spike of pain behind her eyes is a calculated risk,

if this doesn’t work, she’s weakened herself for nothing. if it doesn’t work, that won’t matter for long. )

a feeling of unnameable dread

[vermax]

( Of all the things that have recently happened, the circumstances in which Jacaerys finds himself in are not the worst. His uncle is his enemy, yes, but there is no doubt that Aemond Targaryen is skilled with a blade and a fierce fighter yet. And loathe as he is to speak it, his middle uncle is more a seasoned warrior than he. So crossing paths with one another on this hunt for this monsters was, in some ways, fortuitous. Not that Jace wishes to be seen as unable to carry his own weight.

In truth, he does hear the scurrying of something above them, the tall-tell sound of creaking of floorboards above the sound of rain. It is just that he hears it already too late, when he has made a move away from shelter and is pulled back and bracketed in against a wall.

He lets out an indignant huff - not sqwuak - trying to lean back into the wood behind him when he finds himself pinned by body and spear. His bow now lays against the floorboards beside them, the arrow in his hand like a dagger with it's blade pressed against the silver-haired Targaryen's ribs. He presses firmer until he remembers himself, remembers that there is a beast above that would kill them both and rob them of a chance to best one another. )

Then do not be so loud, ( he hisses back, too flustered at being caught and shoved for a more proper response. )

[sapphyre]

[ How fortuitous it is to see their paths crossing. The moment Aemond had laid eyes on him in this cursed place, he'd hungered for this moment. How couldn't they? A keep is only so large, and the prince knows what darkness must be growling in his nephew's belly. Daemon had toiled to see his blood debt paid, but mayhaps the eldest Strong has the guile to claim it true. The sharp nudge into his ribs is enough to suggest it, but does Jace have the stones to push it through?

Above them, the floor groans as the curious servitor clambers closer to the window. A clearer cry echoes out overhead as the blind creature searches for the commotion. To Aemond, it sounds like the trembling gasp of his mother, begging him for peace. His head turns to get his eye on the opening in the wall as the monster begins to move again. ]

Will the arrow suffice, you think? [ The prince murmurs as he holds steady. In the low light, he can make out the features so familiar. More like Harwin every day. Does he mean for him or the monster? What gauntlet they have been tossed into, he cares not, he only cares for his own victory. How does he have a knack for running into his sister's baseborn children in miserably wet ruins? The Riverlands must call. ] Mayhaps you have underestimated your opponent.

[vermax]

It would be a start. I am not so lightly armed, uncle. ( The arrow needs more force than the dagger and though Jace presses it forward, he knows that pinned he does not have the momentum to force it through the soaked layers that serve as measly armor upon his uncle's person.

The pressure lessens only slightly, though Jacaerys lifts a free hand to shove at Aemond's shoulder. Perhaps it is a foolish move, but it is not so rough an action that it would dislodge a prepared warrior. The creature should not be drawn to it. And if it is, Jacaerys has the advantage of being out of sight and would be granted time to reach for his bow and claim the beast. It hardly an honorable thought, but what honor can he spare in thought when it is his brother's killer so close.

But the truth is he would want to claim the best, to best Aemond and avenge Luke without the threat that lurks near and would soon catch their scents. ) And without Vhagar here, are you more prepared to face this beast or any creature?

down the river of night's dreaming

[nightbite]

[there are no nice places for her to climb and wait patiently, no high bookshelves to perch on to make things convenient. sometimes she likes to observe, and coyo has been doing plenty of observing slipping through rooms unnoticed and blending into shadows. a fatigue is gnawing at her, foreign as this new world she's been dragged to. a little thing biding her time in the dark when aemond trudges in, crouching to the floor in a dark corner until he's tucked into bed.

she crawls forward until she reaches the edge of the mattress, then rises, hands reaching like spiders to claw at the bedsheets. a very good introduction.]

Hello,

[head popping up, eyes wide and innocent. he smells tired and young and warm.]

Are you...against company?

[sapphyre]

[ Somewhere itching at the corners of consciousness, he's aware that something is off. Everything's fallen askew since he's awoken in this strange realm. That feeling by now is almost deservedly shoved off to a corner of his mind to murmur into obscurity.

The last thing Aemond needs now is company, with his defenses getting dragged off into the wooliness of sleep. He cannot defend himself in these conditions, he did not think this action through.

The prince's eye blips open when she speaks, disassembling the darkness from the corner for the girl at the edge of his bed. The temperate beating of his heart slowly rises as he confirms her existence is not some form of trickery. His body tenses slightly but doesn't move. Not yet. ]

What does this company come seeking?

[ Sleepy, he is, but suspicion is imminent. She sounds sweet, pure as his sister mayhaps, but an uninvited guest she remains. ]

[nightbite]

[thump thump thump goes his heart. humans don't like unexpected visitors, but she's here purely out of curiosity and hunger and tiredness, too. she can't remember the last time she lay with a human only to lay with them. long enough ago that the mere memory tires her and she can only blame this place for draining her even though she's already fed. she wonders if he'll let her have a bite of him.]

I am hungry and tired. You are looking quite comfortable - or, as comfortable as this strange place will allow. Your...resting face is very nice, so you know.

[compliments tend to succeed when her actions don't. he's not fussing for her to leave (which may change) so she crawls up onto the bed with him, curling by his side above the sheets. she's too exhausted for compulsion, whatever urges leave her lips are weak.]

I think you should like to help me stay fed.

wildcard!

[whitecloak]

[ jaime catches a glimpse of it out of the corner of his eye as he passes by the corridor: pin-straight silver hair topping a tall, lithe form clad in black. he's heard voices of his brother and sister and children niece and nephews, of brienne and young podrick, of the men that had been under his command at pennytree, of bran stark screaming— yet this is what makes him skid to a halt and backtrack. this is what has him darting down the corridor he had initially passed up, what has him jogging to catch up with the silver-haired figure that has yet to fade away into an illusion of nothingness. ]

Prince Rhaegar! [ he calls out, and he cannot help the hope that seeps into his voice. (or the grief, the regret, the turmoil of it all.) ]

[sapphyre]

[ Blackfyre lies somewhere in this keep and Aemond is determined to uproot it before it is out of his hands forever. Whatever sticky fingers had plucked it from his person another matter. Matters upon matters, the prince should fume as they all seem to stack the longer he persists. If only he knew where he was going.

Plenty of voices have beckoned him to follow his doom into the inky dark tonight. Where all have begged, this one does not. Strange, no, real.

The prince knows not the name that calls after him, but he recognizes its origin as one of his own. It's not like the phantom to moan out the wrong name, so he stops to turn to put a face to the harrowed crier— a face he doesn't recognize.]

A prince, yes, but not the one you seek. [ His head tilts slightly, assessing with his one eye. Another from his realm? The gilded hand could be a hint, but he is too removed to be led to presumptions. One thing he can pin for certain: ] You are Westerosi.

[ That is curious. ]

[whitecloak]

[ not the prince he seeks—? that makes sense, especially with the rampant oddness about this place and the blatant disrespect for similar worlds and the proper flow of time. yet, his cruel, cruel mind swirls with the sort of forlorn hope he rarely allows himself to feel and for a moment, all he sees is rhaegar in his night-black armor with the ruby-studded three-headed dragon on the breastplate.

but it's not rhaegar. it's someone else; a different valyrian prince of similar height and features, but not the silver prince who rode off to face robert at the trident, never to be seen again.

he fucking hates this place. the false promise of seeing rhaegar again after all these years feels like a punch to the gut. ]

I am. [ wit failing to provide him with anything clever to say, jaime bows his head. ] Ser Jaime Lannister, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

[ tommen i baratheon's kingsguard, but details. he was kingsguard to house targaryen first, technically. and something of a closeted targaryen loyalist ]