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.

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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

NPCs

[groundrules]

Drop a very quick starter (only a handful of lines!) if you'd like to thread out an encounter with one of the NPCs below. To ensure we get your threads where you need'em, please start them before 5 August and aim to complete them by 9 August.

You can engage with:

Karsa: the party's young (?) sorceress and steward, perpetually in awe of you. Would put coin on the odds of the village goat to outwit you.

Lisanther: seemingly hard at work in the Grounds to break his chains and elude Manouk. Has carried out some kind of trade with the Dawn's Reach Trade Company.

The prisoner of the dungeons: at once arrogant and honey-tongued, demanding his freedom from a dog who, really, has seen juicier fleas.

Manouk: mad, maddening or simply unhelpful, an old man attending to his bloody garden.

The spectres: victims of someone, somewhere (or were they?), now reduced to wandering souls. Please specify which group of spectres you are asking and where your character is located when doing so!

The bear: ...not a thread exactly, but you can always request rolls for bear reactions, if your character runs into it. On an honour system, please play them out c:

Treat NPC threads as character interactions of sorts: how you approach a NPC will dictate their willingness to assist as much as what you ask. Remember: no one earns exile in a pocket dimension without committing some kind of crime.

Please remember to share findings with the group...!

the prisoner | this will start stupid and i'm almost apologetic

[weifinder]

( This is, of course, not a helpful asking. Instead there's Wei Wuxian, who upon entering the dungeon room with a certain sense of bland accomplishment, guard lowered by the humanoid skeletons outside the door, is twirling his flute between his fingers and glad he's seen the last of the skeletal dogs when...

... There's another one. Right there. Next to the prisoner, who doesn't look so grand themselves, but the doggishness of this skeleton is much harder to ignore than the first of those he encountered above. Something about sitting like Fairy had been ordered to years ago, with the collar and dangling keys. All those teeth. No lips to even pretend they're less horrifying than they are. Right there. The sudden cloying feeling of being in another dungeon, locked into another room, with an even larger beast of the canine family slams home, the spike of fear immediate and consuming.

Wei Wuxian breathes in, sharp and startled, and bolts to the far side of the chamber, calling out uselessly for the man who is not currently present: )

Lan Zhaaaaaaaaan!

( Meanwhile tucking himself as far away from where the bone dog sits, and consequently, from the occupied cell of the prisoner. )

almost!

[aprescoup]

( He'd slept. Long, painless, dragging hours, countless and sprawling. They may have been blinks or years. They might still be stretching on —

If not for the bout of incessant shrieking that startles the prisoner once more out of his stupor. Ah, mere minutes since he last came awake, to find this same man before him. The prisoner had anticipated a longer rest's spell.

Instead, he watches his visitor contort within himself, barely drawing the attention of the dog who rests, indifferent, in the middle of the room, wagging the bony stump of its tail back and forth, back and forth. Faster. Faster.

...of course this should be the prisoner's luck. How could it not? With a rasping growl, he clutches the jail's bars, muttering: )

Stop squealing. Will you reach your hand out to it, already? The mutt waits.

[weifinder]

( Wei Wuxian, who stares wide eyed at the bone dog and its nub of bony tail raking across the dungeon floor, flicks those same overwide eyes toward the prisoner at his bars. He doesn't quite hear what the man says, something about a hand, a mutt, and he shakes his head firmly no. )

It's a dog!

( Does that man, in his cell, fail to witness the teeth? Those horrendously large, imposing, rending, terrorising teeth? There's a lack of... growling, of lips, of narrowed eyes, being that only empty sockets are present, and it tempers some of his fear to a degree, with the shock of the surprise slowly fading along with the adrenaline that coursed through his system.

Not that he moves. Not at all.</small ) I won't move until it moves!

lisanther 💀

[redhourglass]

( it's a good thing that as a general rule, natasha is down to let mad-seeming men ramble. they give things away when they do that — she takes notes; travelled centuries. no mysteries, no epiphanies. necromancy. broken time. shackles. all of it adds up to a not great picture.

when he does eventually fall silent, she's impassive, face smoothed into a neutral expression. then the expression splits, breaks into a considering look. )

How do I know breaking the shackles won't bring Manouk down on both of us before you have a chance to break us out?

[aprescoup]

( For a time, he seems intent to ignore the woman, as if — his words now spoken — he has shared all that was in him to give. As if he has exhausted his natural ability to care in fresh sparks of hope.

This is not, perhaps, the first time a traveller has graced the grounds.

Not, also, the first time that little has come of it. He casts aside another thoroughly searched tome. )

You don't. ( Simple, cutting, unapologetic. He accepts another tome. ) He'll feel it. The House will feel my freedom. That does not mean I don't deserve it. It does not mean I cannot act after.

( A pause, as he seems to riddle fresh meaning from the book before him. ) Before, I did not know to expect the shackles. I was caught by surprise.

[redhourglass]

( she appreciates honesty — or what passes for it at the moment. if he’d tried to claim that this would be different, or that there was some loophole, she’d be less inclined to entertain the idea…

as it is, it’s a convenient story that lisanther has. )

Caught by surprise how?

to karsa | audio

[weifinder]

( he's panting, rather than simply breathing, when he sends this message, sounding unaccountably winded, like he's just now getting enough air. )

Karsa, are you familiar with a necromancer by the name of Deckarius?

audio

[aprescoup]

( Nothing for some time. Then: )

Who is that? A fool? A friend? You have friends, even you?

[weifinder]

Depends who you ask! Deckarius is a necromancer locked in the only occupied cell I saw down in the dungeons. Not a fond friend of, ah, Manrook?

the prisoner..! I... apologize deeply for him

[nachocheese]

This man, it seems, isn't in a position to be making any kind of demands. Nacho has compassion; he understands why someone in such dire straits would be less than hospitable. He can imagine a time when he, too, might have arrogantly tried to demand his freedom in such a predicament although that time feels forever ago now.

He isn't without arrogance of his own, though. He crouches down on one knee, but careful to slightly hover just above the floor, not wanting to touch it more than he has to. He meets the stranger's red eyes with a hard, steely look... and fights with himself not to let his gaze bolt over to the dog made of bones; the thing gives him the creeps but he's not about to let that show, not when he has control over the situation for the first time in a long time.

"And if I do?" he says. "What's in it for me?"

never apologise...!

[aprescoup]

At first, the prisoner appears content to simply not be ignored, as if some part of him, however fragile, had assumed his visitor might be no more than a figment of his imagination. Strange, heartbreaking, maddening what hours upon days upon years of isolation will do to a man.

This is not the first saviour his mind has summoned. Now, hands sticking to the bars, gaze sharp as he glares at his visitor, he thinks he might have stumbled upon a rescuer who is a living being, honest and true.

...and transactional. Very well.

"What do you want?" No. No, he knows. "It's to leave this place, isn't it? That's what we all want. I'll do it for you. I'll cleave us out."

[nachocheese]

Just like that? Nacho's brow furrows. He's clearly surprised, not expecting such a straightforward answer. He wants to believe it's that simple, but it seems almost too easy. He can't help but be suspicious.

'It's to leave this place, isn't it?' Well, yeah. Of course that's what he wants.

"And how do I know you'll keep your word once I get you out?"

Manouk

[mashiara]

( Nynaeve approaches with her arm across her lower stomach, hand firmly atop the hilt of her long knife, belted at the hip. Lan is present as well, but she's focussed on the old man in his... madness, of whatever flavour it is. )

Hello? You're looking for a house?

[aprescoup]

...aus? Mouse? House? ( The man is all gristle and bones, back hunched deeply, his posture worn. In this hand, his ancient cane might as well be a weapon or splinters — perhaps the twain.

He turns, watching the woman and the man with a feverish gladness, and a glimpse of his sharp, rotting teeth. )

I am at home. Hehe. Hehhheehee. He — ( But then, his humour seems to dispel. ) You want... to take from me? My home? To give it to him? You are giving it to him? The House of Manouk? The... I am Manouk!

[mashiara]

Him who? I've only met you, Manouk, who in the world even wants to take your house?

( This man needs dental care, more immediately than she can offer in the moment, but the swing of his attitude (not yet his cane) is already Enough to mark a tightening of her eyes, in concern and consideration. )

the prisoner

[bravelyrunsaway]

All right.

( He pats the bone hound on the head, hooking a thumb toward Thor, who is not appearing in this thread but is definitely, totally there while Licyn's talking. We can imagine it together. )

Tall, golden, and beautiful over here wants to give you a fair chance to prove you're innocent, which is all nonsense as far as I'm concerned, love, so let's try otherwise.

Who put you in here?

Re: the prisoner

[aprescoup]

...haven't I said? ( He has, perhaps, said nothing of the sort, but then, he speaks these truths so often to his own mind, in the hours of his solitude. They become him. )

The old man. That wretched, foul creature. He thinks... I'm a beast. Impulsive. He thinks I cannot be contained. I'm angry. He hates that in himself. He wants it removed. So he hates me, and he wants me removed.

( Like men always do with the things and people who closely remind them of themselves. )

[bravelyrunsaway]

What, the old man hitting everyone with sticks?

( It's a cane, and he gets distracted from trying to hit an overlarge wolf. )

What're you planning on doing once you're out?

Lisanther

[bravelyrunsaway]

( Who enjoys making sure there's more chaos within a home than without?

... Generally, Licyn simply prefers when they're not the source or target of it, but this comes with the simplicity of... thought. Lots of it. One down in the dungeons destined to depart, a madman above, and Lisanther, whatever he speaks.

He strolls up, patting one of the skeletal hounds accompanying him in a most silly sort of wary happiness. )

You're Lisanther, aren't you? The name's Licyn. I heard you were hoping for the scrolls from the Dawns Reach Trading Company that you paid for. How'd you reach them, or they you, to work out those payments?

[aprescoup]

( It is far too long of a time before Lisanther's attention peels away from the display of tomes before him, some opened and properly searched, some intact. He seems entirely consumed by his task, deeply bent over the table that hosts his wares.

The dogs scatter and assemble back by him, roiling, circling dissatisfied. Some return from their chase through the corridor, bearing debris. Others, empty-mouthed.

Lisanther seems to ignore one and all.

Then, finally, recalling Licyn: )

The Dawn's Reach Trade Company travel across dimensions, seeking... unfortunate souls to trade their wares and services at a premium. They charge an arm and a leg. And they take it after.

karsa | audio

[bravelyrunsaway]

Karsa, I ask our intrepid fellow reluctant adventurers and they don't have exact ideas to give me, how long have the death lords been running around your world? When did Ellethia or whatever home the Merchant no longer has fall? Relative to the time we should be in, not whatever horror show of magic time soap bubbles we're in now.

[aprescoup]

Depends, no? In Sa-Hareth, the man who became Anurr. He was long ago a king. Then, Unhalad came recently. In other regions, at other times, they got their dead. I do not know for every place. Maybe five years. Maybe ten. You ask too much. Like I am chronicle. Am I a book? I am not.

→karsa

[nochnaya]

we don't have to thread anything out at this point because i'm very late but merrin just wants to say hello to sister karsa, thank her for the welcome note, and inquire if she'd like some (magickal) help with the spell to get them out of the house of manouk's pocket dimension :) (her people rock communal magick, so it's like bonding!)

Re: →karsa

[groundrules]

Of course! Karsa is a permanent group fixture, so she'll be available during the next event too — but happy to handwave that as well!