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

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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!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Warmth emits from the kitchen, a rare thing to experience in the derelict building since Lan Xichen started exploring, and he is drawn to it as much for that as the scent of food. Jiang Cheng has called him on it twice, his habit of forgetting to eat these days, and it isn't often Xichen really hungers outside of the tiring grief settled like a meal of iron in his gut, but today ...

The young man looks normal enough, though rather more beautiful than the spectres, and seems to be cooking a regular meal. No hair, arsenic, or stories. Xichen's presence causes some of the crooning spooks to veer away as he enters, a stainless pale blue ghost (haha) of a cultivator. ]

I don't know any love stories, I'm afraid, but may I suggest an onion instead?

[ Politely standing to one side where he holds his jade xiao like an afterthought, he offers a small smile. ]

Finally, someone with reasonable suggestions.

( A pointed glance to the gaggle of remaining ghosts not quite cowed away by Lan Xichen's entrance. He eyes the newcommer curiously, expression neutrally easy. If Wen Kexing is bothered by having his time so obnoxiously held hostage, he doesn't show it. Instead he's pulling another sharp knife from a nearby block to slice it neatly through a nearby vegetable.

( If he's thinking about squirreling it away when he's let out of here, that's between him and the fall of his sleeves. ) )

Forgive me if this is your kitchen. ( Looking sidelong at Lan Xichen, barely hidden curiosity in his eyes. The ghosts who had shied away are still hovering, watching the other man restless. Wen Kexing can't help but find that interesting. ) I tried to leave, but apparently there is a cost.

( Hence the simmering pot. )

[ His smile hitches up, a soft snort accompanying a shake of his head. ]

Not my kitchen, not my staff.

[ He gives his xiao a wave from side to side and the ghosts that retreated before bubble with agitated murmurs. The stranger isn't the lord of the house then, as has clearly been thought of Xichen, and they are in the same boat. ]

Should I hasten your release from this duty, young master, or would you prefer to finish to their satisfaction?

'A grain of rice is a drop of sweat.'

( He quotes the children's poem with a grin that borders on impish, gaze flicking lazily from xiao to ghost to the pot and then back to the man. ) It's almost done, and after all my hard work I'd hate to give up now. ( Will he eat any of it? Probably not. Who knows what these pesky little ghosts have added when his back was turned. But his curiosity is stronger than his need to escape now, and so he chooses to linger. )

Ah, but to make my time pass more pleasantly, perhaps you could answer me a question? ( Lowering his voice, like he and this man are old friends. ) Is your playing truly so terrible as to haunt even the dead?

( Because the spectres are afraid, and of that fine looking instrument. )

[ There's a playful glint in his eyes as he hums thoughtfully, coming closer to peek into the pot and see what's being made; nothing to truly eat after all, as good as it smells. Ah, but there are cakes nearby! Xichen meanders around to look at them, picking one up to give it a sniff. ]

Perhaps! This is their home, however, and a strange one at that where everything appears interconnected, so I wouldn't exorcise them.

[ He doesn't want to be cruel to these sad ghosts if they aren't actively trying to harm him. ]

I might send them away elsewhere for a while, if we wanted peace and quiet ... but you're doing very well at your task, [ he means it! ] so now I may stay and help you see it through.

( He makes a small, interested noise in the back of his throat, watching as the ghosts back away from Lan Xichen's approach. It's easy to offer him an apologetic tilt of his head when he sees the true state of Wen Kexing's cooking, the corner of his mouth tugged up into a wry smile. A part of him wants to protest that he's actually far better at this than the current state of things seems to imply, but there's little point to it. )

They haven't tried to kill me.

( The yet is implied. Wen Kexing is sure they're puppets, just like the stone statues. He wouldn't be surprised if one went for his neck. But, it is easier to make himself seem pleasant, kind, it makes him less of a threat. That might be useful, later. )

Which is better than whatever else lies outside of this kitchen. Have you had any trouble?

[ He pauses to consider, deciding it's better to share information than withhold it for the sake of suspicion. ]

Some of the statues outside ... they were aggrieved, and there were sudden rainstorms when I went further out into the gardens that stopped abruptly if I came indoors.

[ As if keeping him out of the gardens, from his perspective. He's unaware of being the cause of those downpours, as outwardly controlled and calm as ever.

Tilting his chin back to the stranger, his mild smile returns. ]

Allow me to stay until you are finished and safely escort you from this room.

Ah, so I wasn't the only one with a bad-tempered admirer outside. Good to know.

( Is he still mad about it? Absolutely. Is he going to ream Zhou Zishu out for it when he gets home? You bet. It doesn't matter that it's not his fault, his stone-self tried to strangle him! They haven't even discussed safe words yet. But, he remembers to keep his smile in place, his fingers easy on the soup ladle. It wouldn't do well to look like he's about to batter someone with it, even if this place keeps pushing him towards it. And so Wen Kexing smiles at Lan Xichen's offer of aid, once more looking the man up and down. He certainly seems like he's capable, not that Wen Kexing actually needs aid. But it wouldn't hurt, and he's so very good at playing a part. )

Would it be remiss to ask my benefactor's name then? Since he is taking the time to help.

Ah! Forgive me.

[ The stranger gets a polite bow in perfect form, xiao in-hand. ]

Lan Xichen, sect leader of Gusu Lan. Zewu-Jun. [ Straightening, he glances around the kitchen and idly taps his flute in a palm. ] Have you seen any spices around? A friend of mine enjoys them.

[ From the sheer amount of food Jiang Cheng has continually brought over for Xichen to eat (habitually forgetting to do so) he ought to owe him several meals, but he suspects a smaller gift would be better received. ]

Edited 2023-08-04 13:28 (UTC)

( He hasn't heard of Gusu Lan before, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything, not when Lan Xichen certainly has the bearing of someone important. He's met many middling little sect leaders in his time, he's seen men puff themselves up with nothing to back themselves on. That is certainly not what's happening here. )

Zewu-Jun. It suits you.

( Charming always works, but Wen Kexing returns his bow just as carefully. ) This one is called Wen Kexing. And mm, the cupboard with the slash marks should have something. Though that had nothing to do with me. You might have to examine whatever you find for freshness however, I've had varying success. ( Inclining his head to the spectres. ) It's not like they care to know.

[ He inclines his head gratefully to the compliment and answering bow. Wen Kexing, and the surname barely gives him pause before the slashed cupboard draws his attention and he peeks inside. There are spices and herbs, he briefly enjoys a sniff of crushed chamomile petals before searching for spicier options.

He has no idea what would be best and goes by whatever makes his nose cringe the most, trying one then another, separating the shelves as he goes. ]

I confess, I'm not sure what I'm looking for. In Cloud Recesses, where my sect lives, we don't use a great deal more than salt on the mountain. Could you suggest something and I will look for it?

Then how do you eat? ( Sorry, sorry. He offers a slight apologetic smile almost immediately after, the air of mischievousness returning to his face. ) Ah, now if only this kitchen were truly properly stocked, I feel a great crime has befallen you. Anything red or black should work. Tumeric is bright orange, though I highly doubt it's here. Star anise would be useful if you were braising something but ah --. Hang on.

( He abandons the pot, throwing a warning glance to the ever grumbling ghosts behind him. ) Don't touch that.

( Wiping his hands on an old, and frankly horrifying, towel, Wen Kexing crosses the kitchen in long, easy strides. )

Does your friend know how to cook or do you plan on doing it for them?

[ Looks like he's used to the teasing about how bland Gusu's dishes are by the flat, amused look he exchanges with Wen Kexing's apologetic smile. Xichen blanches when cooking is mentioned. ]

Ah, I'm not a good cook. He has more experience than me, I believe. Picture a highly self-sufficient, capable young man: that's his type.

[ If anyone can cook, it will be Wanyin. ]

He brings me meals sometimes, if I skip one. It would be a nice gesture to give him something of worth in return, in the same vein.

( Wen Kexing uncorks a little vial of black peppercorns and gives it an experimental sniff before he offers it out to Lan Xichen to take, returning to his work of sorting through what can and cannot be used. )

Ah, he sounds like someone I would like to meet.

( Because Wen Kexing likes to think of himself as being highly self-sufficient and capable. Also he's used to caring for a man who forgets he needs things to survive. Idly. )

You must be close then?

Not especially, but he recently became my brother-in-law so I should like to shorten the distance between us.

[ He takes the little vial and brings up his sleeve to waft away the scent ... but the offending peppercorns are stashed away in there all the same. Yes, good. Anything that makes Xichen's eyes weep is probably a casual lunch for the folk of Yunmeng. ]

You seem very capable yourself, Master Wen.

( He's very clearly amused at Lan Xichen's reaction, the corners of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. He pinches a leaf from another bottle between thumb and forefinger, watching it crumble before abandoning that one to the side. )

Ah, let's not with that. You don't want to poison your new family member after all. And mm? Oh, I just like to cook. Though I don't much get the chance.

( There is a kitchen in Wen Kexing's Ghost Valley. There has to be. But what can be prepared there would not be fit for fine, upstanding young gentlemen. Another vial gets shaken and he hands that one over. ) A kitchen is the heart of a home, after all.

[ Poison? Oof. He eyes the bottle set aside and accepts the one Wen Kexing approves of, listening with invested interest. ]

I agree. Cooking is quite the skill ... I ought to learn how, that much is becoming apparent the longer we are trapped here.

[ His sigh is small and caught behind his lips, thought it exists in his expression all the same as he looks to the new spice, turning it in his fingers to see the colour in the dim light. ]

Tea ceremonies help no one, really.

[ Aside from being a capable fighter, Xichen feels a little useless when it comes to day-to-day tasks. Like feeding himself. ]

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. )

I would not refuse the lesson.

[ If only there was a kitchen like this to make regular use of. The public spa below the apartment is not an inconvenience at all, it's the biggest perk of the place so far, but he would almost prefer a big kitchen to practice in. ]

I've been here a few months but my brother has been a resident for two years. He got married here. [ Four times, yet who's counting? ] This house is not where we usually live, it's a small village upon a lake. I was granted quarters above the bath-house.

Without you? Tch. If my Ah-Xiang thinks she can marry her vapid little boy while I'm otherwise engaged I'll pull her ear off.

( You don't just deny brothers the opportunity to see you wed, the nerve of some people. Wen Kexing abandons the first cupboard and moves onto the next, sweeping aside cobwebs to reach for more small, metal tins that rest inside. Within one he finds tea and he shows Lan Xichen with a small smile, triumphant even if that's not exactly what they're looking for. All the while he keeps his expression polite, interested, head tipped the other man's way as though he's paying rapt attention. )

A bath-house? Lucky. I hope it's better than the one here. The ghost in there is much more maudlin than the ones here. ( Tea dropped to the counter, more treasures unearthed. ) Their organisation skills could use some work though.

[ It's the first time anyone has looked at the situation from his point of view, regarding mising Wangji's wedding, and his eyes soften on Wen Kexing gratefully. ]

Wangji married his zhiji from home, they are a good match. I won't speak against their choices when his husband has kept him safe in my absence.

[ None of the traditions or rules that he was taught to uphold matter to Wei Wuxian, and arguing will get Xichen absolutely nowhere as has already been established by their misunderstanding over a lack of consummation technically voiding their union in the eyes of ... everyone else back home, zhiji status aside. He wishes he had never pointed that out in an attempt to be helpful.

The tin of tea brightens his expression considerably. ]

If we return to Yancai, you are more than welcome to use the bath-house. I hope you will visit. [ Sweeping back one of his sleeves, he leans in to help sort through the little pots and tins remaining, finding a pot of coffee. ] Ah, not more of this ...

Ah. ( Well, zhiji are a little different. Wen Kexing would have forced Zhou Zishu into bowing if he could, kick his knees out from under him or something. Instead they live in sin, Wen Kexing's secrets threatening to overwhelm them. Marriage might have been nice though. ) Still.

( Because the concept of zhiji aside, he thinks if Gu Xiang eloped and denied him the chance to see her in red he might do something drastic. Cry, maybe. He offers Lan Xichen an understanding little smile, still rifling. )

Siblings. They do what they want without care for their poor elder's hearts. ( And then his attention, pulled to the pot. ) What is that?

[ He did very nearly beg Wangji to wear red and have another ceremony, it was disheartening to know he would never see such a sight for his didi. There's no point wallowing in what Xichen wants, though. He isn't so selfish as to make Wangji's marriage about him. ]

Coffee. [ The thoughtful look disappears with an annoyed frown as he passes the tin over. ] Boiled in water with milk, it will keep you awake until dawn. I know.

Sounds useful.

( Obviously there's channelling his qi if he really can't afford to sleep, but maybe something else to help. ( This is a canon event, we cannot interfere. ) Wen Kexing lifts the lid, sniffing it curiously before his nose wrinkles. It's not entirely pleasant, but he has consumed worse. Thrown over his shoulder to the ghosts -. )

We're taking this.

( When no argument comes, Wen Kexing tucks the tin away. To Lan Xichen, he says. )

It's the least they can do. Tell me more about Yancai. Is it similar to this place? I confess I thought myself dreaming when I stumbled upon the house. It is not what I am used to.

[ Are they stealing? Maybe. He gives the reticent ghosts a grateful nod for their silence, feeling a little awkward at rooting around in their cupboards (but not by much given their imprisonment of Wen Kexing to do their morbid cooking). ]

It's a lot like Yunmeng back where I came from, a lake-city. Yancai has been going back in time [ yes, he really said that, look at his wry expression, ] since I arrived. At first it was dilapidated, then slowly became more prosperous. The dead were attacking on the night I found myself on a pier, waters overrun with bodies that needed to be ... dealt with.

Usually, it's very quiet. The entire realm has shifted formation many times, my brother tells me. Locations are not permanent. [ Musing on his spices, he adds, ] I will miss the bath-house when we move on. Hopefully this house will not become the new normal.

the house of manouk | test drive meme

kitchennn.

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