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!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ The jug shatters on the wall beside Wei Wuxian's head when he tries to leave, otherwise there's no noise of anyone advancing from their insouciant seat upon a table. There is, however, a deep canine growl of warning, and a raspy voice that calls out snidely. ]

Come on in, help yourself to whatever Bao hasn't gotten his fangs into.

( The skeletal dog had escaped his notice, or there'd have been more shrieking already; mostly of one man's name, or the sudden bolt that might well have made him run through the crumbling walls, briefly inspired.

As it is, Wei Wuxian hears about fangs, and determinedly, absolutely refuses to look back.

While he desperately keeps himself wedged between the door and the threshold marking it closed. )

Here I'm hoping the wine was just that bad.

( Cheery, and flat at the same time, tossed over his shoulder without a glance.

Only one thing here has fangs, and he will not, will not look. Even worse, because if he starts humming, if he plays, the thing may come running faster, seeking affections Wei Wuxian will never be able to handle as more than passing agreements to exist in the same very large open spaces. )

[ Xue Yang's head lolls as he watches him, wondering if he should get revenge right now or whether it's worth keeping Wei Wuxian whole to get some information out of him. Fucker won't even turn around. ]

It's an old door, isn't it? Heavy. Even if you pry it open and run, you won't have enough of a head-start to avoid getting your legs ripped off. [ He slides off the table (setting aside those cakes, his prizes) and gets down on one knee to pet 'Bao' whose skeletal sockets are fixed on the intruder, an unearthly growl low and constant. Xue Yang lightly adds, ] Or you can stay right there, keep your kneecaps, and tell me what I want to know.

( He far prefers when Xue Yang remains dead: he's less of a pain in the neck then. Or all body parts. It's one thing in seeing where there are echoes of things he can understand: then there's what he can't, what takes self reflection, and nah.

And there's the growling. Wei Wuxian's face goes pale, still turned away. )

Hahaha, pass, pass!

( He wheezes, finally making it through the door...

... only to have it close on his robes. Keeping him pinned to it, on the other side. )

Get him.

[ Bones skitter on flagstone as the hound rushes to the door on command, teeth snapping on the fabric left in place to start shaking it in its head. Xue Yang strolls over, crossing his arms as he leans on the wall and calls through. ]

That was pretty stupid, he's got your scent now. What would have been better: letting him chew you up in one go or knowing he can find you no matter where you are? Aish, these monsters are great, aren't they?

( Not great! Not great at all! He fumbles for his pendant, but finds his flute first, feeling some of the fabric going even more taunt, hearing the start of ripping: these poor robes.

Lan Zhan, that's who he needs to call, but there's a horrible terrible dog made of bones on the other side. Chenqing lifted to his lips, and he plays, which is unfortunate for anyone just because his particular sway with these hounds turns them...

... complacent, in that they stay while the song tells them to, but also, their enthusiasm... their... doggish adoration... becomes equally apparent. They are overwhelmed by joy. Practically verklempt with affection. Vibrating in their bones with restrained happiness. This is not an improvement, in Wei Wuxian's opinion, and he hopes to everything any number of the other hounds don't hear him playing right now, but have your one dog and pony show, Xue Yang, because it's

far less violent than expected

and Wei Wuxian is still shaking on the other side of that door, thanks??!

On the other hand he's still there to talk to, hating your very nice dogge. )

[Hearing the flute, not totally unexpected, he eyes the hound for a long moment where his grip on Jiangzai tightens but the beast only appears to regard its task as more of a game than a command. Snorting at the sound of Wei Wuxian doing little but calling the very dead he wants to avoid toward himself, he rolls his eyes and raps on the door. ]

Oi, oi. Are you done, Wei Wuxian? Tell me what I want to know or I'll open this door since you want a new pet so badly.

[ Because whenever that playing stops, he has a good idea of what sweet, currently playful Bao will do. ]

( Wait. Wait. Xue Yang.

he does not want to stop playing. But he's learned something.

... Stress is the mother of innovation, right? Wei Wuxian temporarily switches to whistling the tune, which keeps the whole dog affection rating high for the moment, as he fumbles for his pendant. Any one of his pendants. He's been collecting more here, because he's not a fool.

Then he activates its recording, to Lan Zhan, and records himself playing as Chenqing returns to his lips. What this means is as the song goes on, he can then find a point where it's good to start repeating, then stop: and replay his recording, with fumbling fingers. On the other hand, it does mean he can talk, even if he expressly, dearly, really does not want to.

Less for Xue Yang at this point. It's the lurking presence of a dog. )

The fun thing is killing you here, I'm the only one around who can resurrect you. Who knew being stuck outside of time had such unforeseen consequences?

( He snorts, weaker than he'd like. )

You're owed nothing. Ask politely, ask sensible questions, and I'll see about answering. It doesn't benefit me to leave you in the dark.

( For information, at least. His finger rests on the pendant, ready to play the music again the moment he needs to do so. It's slightly less all consuming than his live playing, but it keeps things simmering, and that's what matters. )

[ He hears the music die off, no idea what's going on behind the door. Bao looks tense as his grips tightens up again but he otherwise stays where he is so Xue Yang gives him a pet, idly barking out a laugh of his own that sounds hollow (and hurts his chest). ]

If you try and fail to kill me I'll gut your Hanguang-Jun if he's around and feed it to my dog, so you had better not miss. On the other hand, Wei Wuxian, if you simply leave me behind and I never escape, I'll turn this place into a hell just in case you ever return. Everyone here will suffer because of you, alive or dead. Nothing I do here matters to me.

[ The anchoring weight of a pouch around his neck has left him more unbalanced than usual, lowkey panicking the whole time he has been here. His voice gains an edge. ]

I want what's mine. What you stole from me.

Exactly what do you think I stole?

( Forgive him, but the utterly shattered soul of his martial uncle which was given to Song Lan is not a primary consideration of his, particularly years away and knowing that Song Lan was hoping that somehow, in wanderings, Xiao Xingchen's soul might find a way to heal against the improbability of the odds.

Most likely, it never will ~~because Untamed is crueler than the novel and all other media formats like seriously what even???~~. Most likely, Xiao Xingchen was never going to reincarnate, shattered as he'd left this world.

He hits play again on his pendant, forcibly ignoring anything he can that isn't Xue Yang's narcissism. Joyous day! )

The spirit-trapping pouch, it's mine. You took it and it belongs to me, so hand it over or I'll find the rest of this dog's pack and make them hunt you down until it's torn from your body.

[ He wants it quite a lot. ]

( The gaps, the spaces, that stretch between that day in Yi City, to the many days that follow. Wei Wuxian allows his head to fall forward, but his laughter, low at first, turns into something just shy of belly-born after. )

Xue Yang, you have no idea how long you've been dead, do you?

I'm not dead!

[ The hound isn't as vicious as before, affected by the odd flute-song despite Wei Wuxian still speaking. How is he doing that? ]

You are.

( It's simple, that fact. )

Buried alone and everything.

( The music playing, and he stares at his pendant, ready to play again once it ceases. Wonders if Lan Zhan will wonder what this is, or if he'll guess. It's almost enough to make him smile. )

That's not true, I wasn't dead before I got here.

[ It never crossed his mind he would be buried alone and it startles him. ]

You're lying because you're scared, that's all. Give me back the damn pouch! You don't need it here!

Time here isn't the same, and no, I don't mean in this house, this is even less flowing than usual. You die, Xue Yang. You might not be dead yet, but you will be.

( Words he could say to a younger version of himself, along with the caveat: you think you're dying, but you'll stay in darkness instead, alive and trapped with your own thoughts, your own demons, unresolved for sixteen years. There are few kindnesses here, but he does mark this as one of the absurd ones.

At least the last time this man was pulled in, he already knew he'd died. )

Xiao Xingchen's shattered soul rests against the heart of a better man than either of us, Xue Yang. I never kept it.

[ Dying isn't nearly so horrible a thought as what he realises next. ]

You gave it to Song Lan. [ He was the only one there for the fight that would have wanted it. Xue Yang's rage turns white-hot as he bangs Jiangzai's pommel on the door. ] You gave it to him?!

[ Another thump, then a third that rattles the hinges on the door. The dog looks confused, held in the sway of a song which Xue Yang can't figure out; how is Wei Wuxian playing and talking? It's infuriating to always be a step behind him. ]

You had no right!

( The music, playing. He smiles without mirth, shaking his head for everything Xue Yang is unable to understand. )

No one has a right to anyone else's soul. Those who can tend it in love, unselfish? Xue Yaaang, you can't expect me to believe you understand what that is.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

the house of manouk | test drive meme

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject