the house of manouk | test drive meme

[groundrules]

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

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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…

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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 —

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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!

Comments

Spikes

[nothinglikefather]

Woah-!

[Jacob isn't expecting the woman to grab him like that. While there has been some chatter, he's kept away from the people who have made it here, keeping back so he can keep an eye on all of them, not trusting them yet.

Besides there's not been anything as yet that really piqued his interest...

Of course, booby traps do. Most assuredly they do. He steps forward, eyes scanning the floor to work out where the mechanism is, if he can leap it, who put it there. It's devious and nothing like the normal traps he's seen, which makes it very exciting.

Until he's grabbed and tugged back from making the attempt, foot not quite falling where he had planned, the blonde woman with the outrageous amount of hair forcing him back.

He gives her a look, eyebrows raising at her wide, worried eyes. Shes pretty, and he decides to keep a civil tongue in his head for a moment.]

I was watching. I was going to disable it.

[wifedup]

Were the kitchen better stocked I'd offer to teach you.

( Because he agrees, it is a good skill to have. It's one of the first self-taught ones he can lay claim to after all. Because Gu Xiang had needed someone to care for her, and Wen Kexing, foolish heartsore child that he had been then, could be the only one to do it. Though he hopes that Lan Xichen's first attempts would be a little more pleasant than the things Ghost Valley could produce. )

How long has it been for you?

( By now he's been taught that not everyone gets to leave once tokens have been procured. That is still threatening to send him hurtling over the edge of madness, but --. Well, that can come later, if he does not find his own way to burst free. For now fact finding seems a better use of his time. )

1: A heart and hands of Stone

[fully_synthetic]

[The network is down. There's no connection on any frequency, never mind a reply to her signals or beacon. It's not a situation she has been in for a very long time, but it is also a situation she is well-equipped to handle. They want her to find some sort of devices, and should she, there may well be some way of reconfiguring it, or her own inbuilt comms, in order to pick up a signal.

That is the foundation of a plan, and until she has some understanding of where she is, the situation on the ground, and how to get out, it will have to do.

That means that she's exploring this strange, overgrown park cautiously. She's a veteran of urban and jungle warfare, and this is a strange cross between the two, and thus she traverses it, moving from cover to cover, heading towards the highest point of ruins in order to get a proper look at the place.

She's interrupted by a high-pitched scream. Not the first she's heard, but when she's tried to intercept before she's only ever found blood and chains on the ground. Now she's close enough that she knows she can get there, and so she shifts direction, letting her guidance systems steer her away from any dead-ends, and emerges in the little clearing where a statue is currently strangling a LARPer.

Her gun is in her hand and then she hesitates. The possibility of the shot ricocheting into the woman is too high, and it's a risk she won't take. The gun is away again, and instead, she closes in and begins to shove the statue from its plinth with all the strength of her synthetic muscles, words coming out between gritted teeth.]

As soon as it falls, move!

[wifedup]

What are you going to do, once you find them again?

( Still nothing but idle curiosity, as Wen Kexing moves away to place the kettle to boil. Everything about his movements is easy, uncaring, a master in his own rights. Oh, he can feel the killing intent radiating off Xue Yang, so strong he's surprised the man doesn't choke on it. But it's a familiar thing, and Wen Kexing did not become who he is by letting himself be cowed. )

Obviously you'll have to survive long enough to get there. Have you even tried stemming the blood or is this a fashion choice?

[wifedup]

( The notebook is a curious thing, Wen Kexing finds his gaze sliding over it every time she writes something down, a quick there and then gone glance as he moves around the small bathroom. Beyond the cabinet there is not much else, but he runs his fingers along the sink edge anyway, rubbing them together when they come away grimy with old blood. )

I'll bear those names in mind, thank you.

( It would not hurt to gather more intel after all, though Wen Kexing wishes, not for the first time, that he had Zhou Zishu here to play spymaster. He was much better at finding things out. Wen Kexing is always too easily caught in his slyness. )

You said that you'd been travelling from country to country, may I ask how? There are a number of people here, are there not? That seems like an impressive task.

[wifedup]

( That has him pulling his gaze away from the statue, momentarily distracted from the way it's coarsely shaping Zhou Zishu's pretty scowl. His gaze lingers curiously over the blindfold, the bandage, the sword, the silence stretching a beat before he remembers himself. Subconsciously, he takes a step away from the carving, to keep both it and the man in his line of sight. )

My apologies. I was distracted.

( He, as much as he likes to pretend, is not nearly quite as grand a philanthropist. For a moment he is badly tempted to leave and let the blind man find his own way, despite the weather and the ominous air, but he has been alone so far, and to see someone new and not made of stone is enough to halt his steps. )

There are statues. ( Careful, almost helpful. ) I thought - well, one of them almost looks like someone I know.

[wifedup]

Mm. No. Perhaps not? ( He smiles, easy, like they're old friends. ) I suppose I could find my way around this place, bear and ghosts aside. I do like to adventure, I have a wanderers heart, you see. But isn't that vaguely ungentlemanly of me? You've opened the door, and I could leave, but shouldn't I thank you?

( Truthfully, there is something ... upsetting about all of this that Wen Kexing cannot currently name. Lan Wangji says he knows him, but there is no recollection even in the darkest corners of his mind. Usually, trying to prick at the past brings pain, but right now all there is is a tension. He needs to know more then, needs to pry the secrets out somehow. He watches Lan Wangji with a keenness that maybe does not match the curve of his mouth, before he heaves another airy sigh. )

Unless you wish to take over as kitchen master, but let me tell you you'll have no thanks.

[wifedup]

( Two years.

Two years.

He is not staying here for that long, can not. A chill goes down his spine at the thought, the drizzle that had followed suddenly turning frosty. Wen Kexing cannot see the maze for a moment, blinded by the panic that thought brings. He manages to shake it off, eyes narrowed, going sharp before he points the slatted edge of his fan onwards.

Eventually his words find him again, strained slightly but still aiming for friendly. ) Why so long? Unless leaving is not, as I've been lead to believe, a mere matter of providing aid?

( And if not, what will he do? There's a dying man he needs to bully into remission. Another vine stretches, more insistent. It too gets treated the same way, though the movement might be more vicious than easy this time. )

[wifedup]

( He almost wants to laugh. He knows madness, has witnessed it in all it's varying shades. Licyn is not wrong. Though self-crafted, that's the one he's intimately more familiar with, the mantle of Lunatic Wen his more close-fitting robe. He has been thankful there is no need for that here, though the longer that he lingers the more it threatens to slip free. )

And what if there is a bargain to be had, for the safe return of it?

( Because this he does not understand, giving away something potentially useful. Is that a madness in itself? )

Surely that has some promise?

[traumatology]

Yeah, welcome to this place. I don't even know what to call it.

( they went to so many places that he wasn't sure if this world was called one thing or if they went to different places. but he didn't tend to care that much.

he just went with it. )

And not very long. Few months. I think I'm one of the newer ones. Some people have been here for years.

[traumatology]

do i have a reason to smile?

Connor/Ratonhnhaké:ton | Assassin's Creed | (Late) Tourist

[mustact]

A. The terrace

1. The statues

[ The past few years of Ratonhnhaké:ton's life has involved plenty of happenings he hasn't been able to explain. Most because of the actions of humans, but some because of something else entirely - some other being. Yet, this is stranger than any of it. Summoned by an undead lord who seeks control? What could this lord possibly want with him? Could it have anything to do with Those Who Came Before?

This entire place feels old. It doesn't just look it, with the greenery overtaking it or the crumbling structures, but feels it. And something about the statues he pauses seems to beckon to him, until he finally stops to watch them, something about it looking ... familiar.

When the face of it shifts into the shape of his mother, someone it really shouldn't be, because how could anywhere here know of her? It's some kind of trickery, then, though he doesn't know where a statue might have gotten the image of her face, never mind how a statue can change its face at all.

It doesn't really matter. The point is, he doesn't appreciate the trickery, and it's with a scream that he pulls out his tomahawk and smashes the statue's face in. ]

2. The vines

[ Afterward, he will blame the statue for his frazzled mind that is clearly the reason for his lack of vigilance. The vines break from the wall, and even as they start wrapping around him, he doesn't notice until they're pulling.

Luckily, he can still move his arm enough to pull out his axe again, quickly slicing two of the vines apart with an angry growl. ]

Let go of me!

[ Because, obviously, the plant understands. ]

B. The grounds

1. Chained souls

[ After following the unnerving dogs and listening to a slightly less unnerving man, he takes in his surroundings, all the shapes of people chained up like Lisanther is. Shapes because he thinks, as terrible as that is, that you could barely call them people. He doesn't leave immediately, and doesn't go far. Instead, he crouches down next to one of the shapes who looks like a woman, and studies her for a moment, searching for any light in those eyes and finding nothing. ]

What happened to you?

[ He speaks very softly, more to himself than her, then looks back at Lisanther. Is this what happens to anyone who doesn't get out of here? They are chained up and left here until they lose themselves? ]

2. Sleeping chambers

[ Whoever lived here was clearly wealthy, however long ago it might be. Maybe it was this undead lord that allegedly has summoned them, wandering his old halls hoping for ... something. Though, judging by the number of chambers here, the lord was undoubtedly not alone.

After wandering through this place, he feels sort of exhausted. The soft beds might have tempted him, but his skin is crawling with unease, and he trusts none of this. ]

This seems ... too clean.

1

[nothinglikefather]

[There's a number of people about, unfortunately, most of them have about as much of a clue as he does about what is going on here. But there are also those that carry themselves with an air of competence. Well, maybe not competence, but there's something reassuring and capable in the set of the young man's shoulders.

There's also something about him that screams out to Jacob, more so than any of the other people wandering the maze.

So at a safe distance, he follows. Not hard to do, with Eagle Vision on his side. The man glows a bright, rich gold as he turns this way and that, heading through this so-called house easily, despite the fact he can't be any more familiar with it than any one else. He's not a local. That much Jacob would put money on. In fact, he'd put money on-

He doesn't finish that thought, because something changes. The man's stance shifts, and while outwardly most wouldn't notice it at all, Jacob can, and he picks up speed, taking those twists and turns at a run so he arrives just as the blade from the axe smashes into the worn, crumbling face of the statue.

That means he's just given up all stealth and secrecy, but maybe it was worth it, just to see the way those shoulder muscles moved and the sheer strength that must have taken.]

Well, I'm impressed. Not sure about the statue.

[somebadnews]

[ Five squints at him as he keeps playing with the tablets like he's reading something more than what's written on them. His conclusion could very well be another guess, but he always speaks with the certainty of someone who has already passed judgment. It's a wonder why he bothers asking for an opinion. ]

So you're betting on suicide, but that doesn't explain this. [ He knows Lan Wangji is listening to him and pointedly refuses to turn around. It grates on him for another minute, then he blinks in front of him in a brief flash of light and shows him the tablet in his hand. Don't turn your back on him. ]

That's my handwriting. They're instigating.

[rehandle]

Stephen and America are searching the sleeping quarters! Stephen focuses his attention on the ~reading materials~ while America begins by turfing blankets & etc off of beds, and either one of them can re-focus to help the other as required by the results of this request if one target is more useful than the other.

A scroll piece pls!

[rehandle]

Not exactly. [ This is the first sudden pocket dimension abduction he's had since arriving, as it happens. ] I'd guess the talismans are metal and the scroll is... scroll.

[ Illuminating, Stephen. Really. For his part, he stoops into a crouch as he comes to the first little gathering of scattered papers, starting to sift through them.

Idly, as he works: ] What happened with the... ?

[ He lifts his hand to make a vague gesture at all of her. He means the wet clothes - and whether or not he already knows the circumstances that caused rain up there, he won't be specifying. ]

[rehandle]

Too long for some, apparently.

[ Wherein 'some' means 'Thor'. ]

[reparo]

[ She pulls a face at that suggestion. ] No, no. I'm another one of the travellers stuck in this place. [ She gestures here to her pendant, the one that connects her to the network of others just like her, or rather like them. ]

And to answer your other question, yes, I'm looking for waypoints for Karsa.

[mustact]

[ Of course he knew he wasn't alone here. He wasn't exactly thinking about it right this moment, though, and he starts the moment he's spoken to. It's not too obvious, but there's a definite flinch before he whips around to find the source.

He also does not appreciate that dry comment. The words sound like a compliment, but he's pretty sure they're not. ]

Have you looked at them?

[nothinglikefather]

[ The quick turn is quite elegant, there's some natural poise and balance there. But theres also an edge, a sharp little edge that nakes Jacob hold up his hands, as if to say I don't mean any harm. ]

Not up close. Can't say I've ever been interested in art.

[ But the words seem like an invitation and so he steps forward, giving the young man a bit of room, examining the statue and the axe buried in its face. It doesnt change, doesn't move, just sits there, still as, well, a statue.]

You buried that axe in pretty deep.

[mustact]

[ Sort of an invitation, but he doesn't expect a face with an axe in it to do anything strange. He takes a breath, and puts his foot on it to pull the weapon out and sheathe it. ]

Look at one that is not broken.

[somebadnews]

This entire prison seems to be set up like a game, and Five naturally wants to resist playing along. He scowls at the ghosts, at the dogs who retreat on command, and Licyn for suggesting they have no choice but to participate in a treasure hunt.

Then like a switch, he smiles tightly and leans towards the only living company in the room.

"How kind of you wait for me." He's got along fine with Licyn before, but this has all been a little convenient. It's become readily apparent that he's not telling him everything. Best he keep an eye on him. "Do you have a preference?"

[reparo]

On instinct more than deliberately, she reaches behind her to pet the wolf trying to use her (small) form to hide, because that's what Crookshanks would've done when he wanted to be petted.

She takes one cautious step back to get closer to Licyn, but keeps her eyes peeled out for any changes. The walls moving, and the old man making them move, for example.

"What's he doing?" she whispers, more to herself than anything. If there's a sequence to be spied over the old man's shoulders, she's going to try to spy it.

[reparo]

[ She lets out a huff, rolling her eyes. ] Please, I've been on a strict diet of either coffee or green tea for the past two years, at this moment I feel like I'd trade just about anything for a cup of builder's...

[ Stiff British upper lip indeed. They might as well be talking about the weather next. Small talk about nothing in peculiar.

She purses her lips together for a moment, giving him a curious look, then steps up to the table to review the tea leaves. The kettle - they'd need fire to boil that water, or they'd need a Hermione Granger. But it's a lot, and it must be a lot for people who've been hunting ghosts since they were six, too. ] Are you comfortable with the concept of magic, Lockwood? Because I'd like to use some to make the tea.

[nothinglikefather]

[ The insistence makes Jacob raise a brow, because surely it would just be easier to tell him what was going on.

Then again, it might well be one of those things that have to be seen to be believed. And his company doesn't seem to be the chatty sort.

As the axe is freed- against with a fine display of ability, Jacob turns to try and find one without a large cleft in its face. Around the next corner, he does find one. It's a statue of a man, sitting with his head bent to his book, and as Jacob gets closer and closer, it looks more and more like Henry Green. Uncannily like him.

Until with surprising speed, especially for stone, the statue is moving, bringing the heavy marble volume through the air towards Jacob's skull.]