westwhere | the house of manouk

the house of manouk | test drive meme

Hello, hello! Our latest event — doubling as a test drive meme and stretching until 12 August — is a one-off incursion in an uncharted time pocket dimension — the House of Manouk.

Anyone can hit up the test drive meme, but you will need an invite from an existing player to apply on 5 August. Have fun!

THE HOUSE OF MANOUK

Image source.

THE TERRACE

Old or new, you wake up on a white-stone terrace dominated by a twisting hedge maze that houses great columns, tattered statues, ponds, rivers, gazebos and pergolas — and high looming walls of thickly bound ivy, bloomed roses or thorny vines. Walking the Terrace somehow always brings you deeper into the maze, while a flushed, sunless sky stares down, unblinking.

You experience no thirst, hunger or language barriers here. Old translation & communication pendants can nevertheless be found scattered across the Terrace and Grounds.

New arrivals encounter the sorceress Karsa, who explains you were likely summoned by one of the undead lords who seeks control of Akhuras — and reached, along with the party she leads, a pocket dimension outside of time. Karsa’s associate, the Merchant, instructed to exit the time dimension by finding Ellethian waypoints — typically stone tokens engraved with the carvings of an eye with a sun for a pupil. Karsa may activate them for you to leave this place.

Your mission is to search the House and find the waypoints of Ellethia or of the rival Dawn’s Reach Trade Company without attracting the ire of the local exiled overlord(s).

■ Some of the statues you discover on the Terrace seem crudely carved, gaining the features of your loved ones, the longer you stare at them. Some seek to throttle. Escape them by having someone else stare at them, becoming their new target, or by leading them in a crowd of other statues.

■ Beware getting pricked by thorns: covetous vines can quickly ensnare and pull you into the maze’s green walls, or bind your hand to that of your companion.

■ The maze’s weather often mimics your mood: nice and balmy for contentment, cold for fear, torrential rain for sadness and a heatwave to answer anger. Smile.

■ Every now and then, you hear screams from other parts of the maze. Run, and you might find pairs of steel manacles or rusted chain on bloodied grounds, from where fresh rose bushes quickly rise up. Investigate.

■ Go deeper in the maze, and you find a heap of small stone tablets. Most list names, ages, occupations and include loving remarks, such as the finest husband or she smiled ever bright. Alarmingly, when your companion’s back is turned, you find tablets engraved with your handwriting, saying, don’t turn your back to them, blood reeks strong on them and that’s not their name. There are no waypoint tokens here.

■ Spend enough time in the maze, and you discover an old, red-eyed, white-haired and hunchbacked man with two chainless shackles on his wrists. He ignores you, muttering to himself about how the House must keep moving, moving. The House doesn’t like you. The House is awake. The House should sleep. The old man hits or trips you with his cane, or you might wake to find him hovering very closely over you. Engage him.

■ Now and then, he seems suddenly alert, if not outright fearful, shrieking that he comes and rushing to tinker with pulleys and stone mechanisms hidden within the maze vine walls. The maze’s architecture abruptly changes, with the ground quaking, walls shifting, while old plants wilt and fresh ones rise up within heartbeats. As the House changes, you might spot a long, spiralling staircase at short distance. Go down into…

Image source.

THE GROUNDS

The ground level of the House is splintered in dozens of decaying rooms, many locked. There are no windows here, dust thick in every corner, while faint scratches and canine footprints mar the floors — the marks of dozens of great skeletal hounds that haunt the corridors.

The dogs lead, chase or drag you towards a shuttered hall room, where a middle-aged, red-eyed and white-haired man furiously searches through haphazard mounds of tousled tomes. He too wears shackles. His manner is perfunctorily polite, as he calls back his dogs.

”…not from around here, are you? Must have broken time. Hooligan. Well, you’ve travelled centuries to be disappointed. There are no mysteries here, no epiphanies. All the great wells of myth and magic? Some other pigs have drunk them dry. Blame your luck, for bringing you to the shambling hut of — …the fine House of Manouk. Taravast’s greatest necromancer, til his mind turned to slaughter.

I was his disciple. Lisanther. Must’ve come from high on, did you? These cursed shackles… he senses everyone in his House through them. If he feels us on his scent, he works his little screws and wheels and moves the House stairs. Impressed? Don’t be. He’s a wreck, who feasts on time echoes of the anguished. That’s him. Paints a picture, doesn’t he? Stay out of his sights, or you’ll wear his chains soon too. Same as me, same as the dog he keeps in the dungeons. Dragged back every time he wanders.

If you want to make yourself useful, help me. I traded fairly with a caravan of the Dawn’s Reach Trade Company. They say they left behind scrolls in these grounds, with the words to free me. They overcharge, but they don’t lie. Help me find them. Break my chains, and I’ll break us out. I can. I swear it. ”

Deeper into the claustrophobic Grounds, you find specters of men and women, chained just like Lisanther — their skin translucent, their gazes lethargic. They feel neither dead nor alive to the magically sensitive. They are either very present in the moment or barely recall their whereabouts. If asked about tokens, they say the Dawn’s Reach Trade Company left scrolls in the Grounds main quarters:

▶ Bathing quarters

At times pristine and delightful, at others blood-marked and torn. The waters abruptly run very hot, cold or silty. The spectre of a wo/man might appear in the tub, staring unblinkingly or murmuring that people do all sorts of wickedness in this bathroom: they have even witnessed stabbings, treasures being hidden beneath tile boards, and even a birthing!

▶ Kitchens

Sprawling and soot-laden, bursting with supplies of stale wheat, eccentric cakes, exotic fruit and spice jars, these kitchens were built for long service. A heavy cauldron bubbles and boils a green broth in a cold fireplace, where ash and stone drown wood. A circle of spectres troubleshoots how to improve the meal — just as the kitchens’ doors slam shut, and they cordially invite you to do the legwork for their recipe. They instruct you to chop, clean and prepare the most unusual ingredients: hair of a dog, salt, moulded thyme, arsenic, one of your finest love stories… they’ll tire of their creation and release you within the hour. Don’t dine, dash.

▶ Sleeping chambers

There’s rest for the wicked in these deserted sleeping quarters, which boast exceptionally well-stuffed cushions and pillows, blankets and ‘reading materials’ — torn pages from books of history and magic. Some speak of the desperate attempts of the rulers of Taravast to flee death. Others talk of using spells, the elements and even mass sacrifice to achieve immortality. Enjoy your rest, only perturbed by occasional distant screams —

…or perhaps by a large, feral white bear that bursts in to briefly chase you, before disappearing. Veteran travellers may recognise him as the creature of Anurr.

Some of the chain-breaking scrolls of the Dawn’s Reach Trade Company can be found in each of the main rooms, along with some of the Company’s talismans, marked as waypoints, which should be brought to Karsa. See what your character finds.

Finish up here, or meander down a final stairwell to —

Image source.

THE DUNGEONS

Cold, deteriorating, crumbling — difficult to say if this is a tightly bound knot of underground tunnels, or a torturous weave of lost dungeons. Parts of the floor crumble to reveal abyssal depths below — or suddenly appear beneath your feet, to help your progress. Emptied, creaking bookcases abound. Here and there, you see your reflection in shattered wall-length mirrors, moving differently than you, or just slightly older or younger than you are.

■ Revived skeletons patrol the corridors, scantily armed with base blades, stones and torches. They largely ignore you, only blocking your path if you near a magically-locked stone door in the back of the Dungeons, from where you hear… human pleas.

■ Door engravings instruct to speak out the three truths of each day. Nearby, you find a mound of crumbled stone tablets, along with three golden ones raised on pedestals that read:

▶ with morning, my body is a weapon, sun-seeking, righteousness-bound

▶ by midday, my flesh has bent and battered, a shield of justice for young life to come

▶ come evening, I am blood and bone, a humble house to hope eternal

■ Tip bookcases into the narrow corridors to prevent the skeletal guards from reaching you, as you search diligently through the stone debris beneath the golden pedestals. You might even find Ellethian waypoint tokens: palm-wide, marked with a sun pupil. Take them to Karsa immediately… or open the now unlocked dungeon door as a man calls out.

■ Enter, and you discover an dimly lit dungeon alcove, with animate skeletal heads hanging on each wall. They cackle, Mind your step. Heed them and look for holes in the floor tiles — needle-thin spikes emerge from there periodically.

■ Go deeper, and you discover a large bare stone room, scantly livened by torches bearing green fire. A small hole — barely enough to fit a grown man standing and lying down — has been dug into one of the walls and secured. This inhumane prison’s bars crackle and sizzle with magical electricity. A skeletal hound waits by, with a set of keys fastened to its collar.

■ A white-haired, red-eyed twenty-something young man sprawls haphazardly in the prison: battered, swathed in rags, shackled and wild. He holds out his blood-tipped hand between the bars, but fails to lure the dog close — and calls out to you, instead:

”You must be mad to come to me. The old man sent you? Finally? Good. How wonderful. I’ll spit on you, and I’ll spit on his grave. He left me here to die. And now he’s remembered me? What does he want? …no. It doesn’t matter. Rip the keys off that mutt and get me out of here. ”

You can engage or release him, if you coax the key from the recalcitrant dog. Or leave him be and see Karsa with your waypoint token.

Image source.

NOTES:

■ There are multiple waypoint tokens to leave the time dimension: the Dawn’s Reach Trade Company talismans, hidden in the Ground rooms, and the Ellethian tokens, found in the dungeons. Bring whichever one you discover to Karsa.

■ You can optionally solve the mystery of Lisanther, the prisoner, Manouk and the spectres.

■ The House’s layout changes periodically, but characters can find the stairs to travel across the three levels every few hours.

■ Mention in your top level if you play an old timer or a test driving tourist. TDMers can make both logs and network prompts here!

■ QUESTIONS & NPC INBOX!

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

( Licyn lifts an eyebrow, but nods. It'd be his mentality if he'd been locked up, regardless of having earned the incarceration or not. )

Who's the other one?

What names have they? We don't care for your home, Manouk, we're leaving as soon as we may. Who are these other two?

( keeping out of easy reach of that walking stick, knowing full well how she'd use one if she were so inclined. )

( They're pervasive. Hard for the people used to being authority figures to sound less so, even wildly displaced. )

Were its pipes intact? Producing clear water?

( The ghost in the tub shifts, the murmur of its complaints continuing on as it bleeds slowly from the head. The blood doesn't make impact on the water; the water, annoyingly, remains silty. )

Bathing, cleaning up, washing hands, drinking, the kitchen's practically useless with how it's haunted, we need to make do otherwise.

He shakes his head, very certain of that point.

"Tied to this place, by my guess. Care to see?"

The bone hounds whine again, one offering the wave of a bone-whip tail. Licyn ignores it, and the rest, beyond holding his ground as he had, shoulders back, teeth still too visible for the hounds — less so for humans. A number of cultures show their teeth quite often, don't they?

[ Her answer surprises him. What, does she expect to live here? ]

The kitchen's... haunted. I'll remember that. [ Man, this is heavy.

But Marty's natural inclination to help others wins out, in the end. With a hard nod of his head as he accepts his mission, he leaves the room, going off to find the other bathroom he passed by in the house.

About a minute passes before, suddenly, frantic footsteps thunder down the hallway. Marty throws the door open wide this time, both his eyes enlarged in alarm. ]

There's a lady-- [ And as he looks in, he realises the woman was never alone in the bathroom all along. No, right there in the tub with her is a dude with blood on his head.

Marty shrieks. ] Who the hell is that!?

[ lucy rolls her eyes. ghosts, spirits, who cares! same thing! unlike lockwood, lucy doesn't have a natural affinity for meeting people, she's too expressive so her judgement is clear on her face and she can't hide when she's cranky with lack of sleep, which she is... most of the time. for a world plagued with ghosts that haunt the darkness, it hasn't exactly adopted a nocturnal rhythm (probably because it's only children who have Talents.) she still has to be awake during the day.

this is why she and george leave all the talking to lockwood! ]

I'd love to be permanently out of work, actually, but it's still my job.

[ all of her friends didn't die right in front of her only for someone to tell her that ghosts aren't her job. ]

( The startling fall, and he catches his breath even as his other hand, late, comes to catch himself on the tub's far turning lip, preventing himself from collapsing fully down on his husband, forcing him to fold into the heat of the waters below, and the lap of the ghost who looks about as startled as Wei Wuxian's exhalation had been. It's a near thing, fingerspans away from his husband and yet taunt with holding himself from the collapse, the capitulation.

Or the conquering, part of him considers, dark eyed and hungry. Only that isn't exactly right, doesn't exactly fit, like robes too tight, too short, or too voluminous to be walked in without feeling out of step. Wei Wuxian shivers, fingers tightening in Lan Zhan's hair, arm trembling. Not for weakness, not for awkward angles. For intensities.

Tentatively, the ghost, uncertain of his place in this, reaches out hands to attempt a support under Lan Zhan's painful draping, placed polite and light. No intrusions, despite the swirl of energies, of emotions in the room, and the apparent act of swallowing, lips parting.

Wei Wuxian sees little of this, gaze focussed on Lan Zhan, the hand that finds his throat catching the pulsing of his heart. Want, and he's known it for longer than he's acted on it, in their interrupted bursts, their incapability of finding time. )

I want you.

( Are the words that fall from his tongue, the steadiness of his heartbeat, elevated as it is, felt at Lan Zhan's palm. )

Like this, you.

( Swearing in a faith of intensity to what holds close to his heart, his wants, his ease of flirtation: all the things he's allowed himself to remember, and all the loyalty that trembles in his bones, caught in his lungs, stealing air when he needs to breathe. Often enough, he doesn't know, doesn't think, Lan Zhan really believes it; doesn't understand that where there's not the sharp scent of vinegar spilling from Wei Wuxian, instead the contemplative, playful curiosity, that's for his husband, for seeing Lan Zhan stirred and undone and rendered fractured, beautiful, human, allowing it seen.

Even if just to Wei Wuxian's eyes, and to the eyes of a man dead for an unknown span of years, shorter or longer than their turbulent times in unequal measures on the world. )

Lead where you want, Lan Zhan. I'll follow for you.

( Ghostly caresses, secondhand kisses, moments strange and liminal and beautiful, as Lan Zhan wants, so Wei Wuxian too can want, with the pearls of understanding between them, decorating crowns, brilliant against the ink of their hair, of what that capitulation means. Who, in the end, this is for.

They too often have inexplicable silences, assumptions. There've been too many accusations, decrying lacks, attacks from outside yet again, and he ignores them, he does, but he cannot, will not, let it sound otherwise to his husband. Not in these moments, even if he's the one to say the words, we can appease. )

[ her fingers flex by her side but there's no rapier there to use as a security blanket. ]

TMI off a Type Two for a start. [ her mouth slants down in a peevish moue. she knows ghosts can be hungry for human contact, sometimes just to talk, but sometimes very physical contact. it's what makes spectres so bloody dangerous; much like band-aid's 2014 remake of "do they know it's christmas": spectres do want to reach out and touch you. ]

We shouldn't go in there.

[ Vanessa isn't easily alarmed by much, but suddenly getting attached to a complete stranger after getting handled by thorny vines is new territory. However, she isn't one to immediately panic, motioning for the other woman to pause once she overcomes her surprise.

It seems a lost cause, though, because someone's distant scream is enough to launch them forward with no further consideration for their own predicament. Vanessa is not exactly weak, but she weighs next to nothing and has a long skirt to contend with in this mad dash. This woman's pace is not her usual, to put it lightly, and Vanessa has to grab onto her with both hands to keep from falling immediately.

With a gasp, her nails dig in and she stumbles. ]

Stop! Lest I be dragged.

( Nynaeve's already standing when she heard the frantic movement in the hall, stalking across the small bathing chamber as the door flies open, and the young man from before looks in. His interrupted words indicate what she's been resigned to in the ridiculousness of this world, let alone this underground estate, and the shriek that follows when his gaze falls on the ghost of the dead man is...

... Understandable. Incredibly understandable. )

A ghost, haven't heard a name from him. Let's slow down and breathe, okay? He can't ( probably ) leave the tub, you're okay. What were you telling me about a lady?

( The ghost in the tub doesn't seem to register the shriek, or that anything's happening at all, continuing to stare forlornly down into the waters, lips moving with no understandable words spilling out. Perhaps disconcertingly, the blood that'd dripped starts reversing. )

The old man ignores and continues about his business, revealing a metal mechanism partially to Hermione. Licyn, having listened to the sake of heavens, hung back when Hermione walked over, giving himself a full body shake before his heavy head shifted from side to side, ears flicking forward, then back.

He trots after her not two heartbeats later, ears pinned flat against his head. The vines are dying at an increasingly swift rate, new ones pushing up from the ground as the world around them groans, the walls from before beginning to shift around as if dancing in a slow, drunken manner.

He's right back behind Hermione all over again, though he swings sideways, now pressing his side against her backside so nothing can sneak up and bap him on the rear. The vines will try, they're grabby, he's dealt with that already, but the walls? He hadn't seen them actively shift before now.

[ all lucy knows about blackpool is the lights and she's from the north, though the carlyles lived about as rural as could be outside of farm living. the lights run all autumn and winter, almost like artificial sunshine to keep the ghosts at bay. she's seen pictures and the blackpool illuminations are the prettiest ghost-lights she's seen, loads better than london's umbrella-shaped lights. which is to say, blackpool lady seems cool based on that alone.

lucy digs into the pocket of her shorts, brings out a sprig of lavender. that's all she's got to fight bloody ghosts and she looks as disappointed as she feels. ]

I'm a Listener. I can hear ghosts. [ so presumably! she would be useful! except: ] Haven't got anything to deal with them once they're done talkin' though.

( His brows lift, and he leans enough to the side to properly see past her. )

You're talking about the one in the tub?

( The way she's talking reminds him of one of the youths around... it takes him a moment before he asks, seemingly unperturbed by the ghost in the tub he'd nonchalantly identified: )

Don't worry, they haven't left any of their tubs, and few have been energised enough to interact with physical objects. You say Type Two. Any chance you'd know a young man by the family name of Lockwood?

( Did Lockwood get lucky, or unlucky? Hard for him to say, but the terminology is the kind he's only heard out of one other person pulled into this place, and that'd be him. )

Yeah, Lockwood is... my employer.

[ yikes. she reaches up to touch the necklace at her throat, the necklace lockwood gave her and she never returned (and won't until he asks for it back.) technically, lockwood is lucy and george's employer but they're also friends, portland row is her family. an unfortunate course correction in an attempt to disguise her crush on lockwood, but lucy is so stubborn that she isn't about to back down from what she has said.

teenagers, amirite? ]

[ Marty's pressed himself against the wall by the door, palms slammed to the surface as he does his best to keep distance between him and the freakish dead man. His head does turn sluggishly at the woman's urging to calm down, and when she tells him to breathe he takes a very deep inhale followed by a shuddery exhale.

Suddenly he respects her authority. Anyone who isn't losing it in the face of ghosts is worthy of it. ]

The... I... [ Marty's trying to recall what he'd heard from Tub Lady in the handful of seconds he stood in her doorway paralysed with fear. ] I th-think she was mumbling about treasure.

[ The ghost man moans in lament. Marty's head snaps in his direction, eyes fixated on his wound.

Stick to the conversation, McFly! ] A-And then she looked at me and I slammed the door and ran here.

( Teenagers and their stubbornness and also near limitless potential. Gotta appreciate how the two often enough go hand in hand, and not necessarily in complimentary ways.

Regardless, he doesn't say anything about the pause before the definition of labels in a relationship: lifts his brows a touch, but it is what it is, and he's not so nosy as to say he cares when there's more important, pressing matters.

Mostly of ghostly botherings, and this is one of the more suprising, and less invasive (somehow) of the kinds lurking around the estate. )

He'll be happy for the familiar face. He's been here for a few months, though the ghosts in bathing chambers might be new enough for all of us.

( He lifts a hand, waving to the ghost, who doesn't see or seem to understand anything is happening outside of its own haunted world. Far less aware than many ghosts he's dealt with. Usually, an indication of it being weaker. )

Hello, ghost! You don't seem to see or hear us, do you? ( Aside, to Lucy: ) Some of them can, even in these bathing rooms, but most haven't. The ones in the kitchen are much more demanding! With no recipe sense at all.

It’s hard to miss a skeleton wagging its tail.

Five nods, though not without a frown at the odd way Licyn and the hounds seem to be communicating. He’s distracted enough by it that after stepping forward, he decides to ask.

“Are you controlling them?”

Since he's there scrounging the cupboards for teas!

I'll take a talisman please!!

guess he's a decent person to have here even if his magic can't get us out of here.

[ Does he look a little confused at the pop culture reference? Yes, yes he does. That may help clue Clara in to the fact that his Great Britain is a different reality from her Great Britain.

Regardless, it doesn't stop his smile or his high energy as he bounces between the long table -that was probably used for preparing food and service for the 'downstairs'- carrying the different containers of tea. ]

It's all loose leaf. I'm not going to bring over the chamomile because it already looks vile but these others appear safe enough. I will warn that this one on the end has an odd scent. [ The marmite, he means the marmite.

Teas laid out, Lockwood bounded back to the stove to set about heating the kettle. He glanced over his shoulder, smile still in place and tinged a little with a healthy dose of ego. He loves getting to talk about his work prowess. So long as we don't stray to more personal topics. ]

I am always up for questions, and will do my best to address any concerns you have about ghosts. Though luckily the ghosts here do not act like the ghosts back in my home reality, so we're already ahead of the game in that respect.

[ Kettle on the fire, he spins about gracefully and leans against the counter, arms crossed, grin fiendish. ] Question away!

[ She is welcome to stand and hold his arms as long as she needs too. He certainly isn't making any move to let her go, so they can both stand there it will be just ... normal.

Especially since he is forced to give her that slightly crooked grin he often flashes when he's gone and done something he knows he shouldn't but did anyway. Like the time he smuggled the flare bomb into Combe Carey Hall. ]

To be fair, I had help! [ Not that his ego wouldn't have owned breaking time, they both know that, but in this case? He'll share the credit. ] It's a complicated story, but basically we were trying to help a village in it's struggle against an undead liege, who was attacking the village with the dead. To combat the destruction, a group of witches harnessed the power of the moon and kept moving the village back and forth through time.

We stopped the Huntress, and convinced the witches to stop their ritual, but by doing so, we broke time and ended up here.

[ GRIN! ]

The tea leaf jars proper have little to offer Lockwood, but he is far better rewarded when he searches the shelves for a small pot to boil his water. Within it, he encounters a bundle of rolled up or scrapped pieces of parchment, including one talisman piece marked with the wax insignia of the Dawn's Reach Trade Company. Scribbled on it, in hasty writing:

Taravast pays better than you ever could

The dog... does not concede. It seems, in fact, resolutely determined to glare the visitor down into submission, with a fortitude of spirit and overall resilience that the prisoner finds privately commendable. All hail his bony tormentor.

As for ideas —

The prisoner fleetingly considers, mouth lightly agape as he ruminates, before acquiescing with a tired nod, "Sometimes, the old man comes down. He whistles a little song to call it."

A pause, then, "Sing it something?"

( He seems delighted by the question, entirely overwhelmed by giddiness. And he mutters: )

Call'emselves... hehe... he... hah? Call... they have names! They each took a name. ( How absurd, how wonderful! How he rubs his hands, gleefully, long nails snagging, fracturing. )

Li... santher. And Deckarius!

Perhaps expand your knowledge?

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 27 of 63

the house of manouk | test drive meme

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

the terrace | this tiny woman needs to be carried

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Kitchen!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

try again!!!! ...and just give it to him on the third try anyway, if the second one is a bust too!

no subject

no subject