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

Anthony Lockwood | Lockwood and Co | Old Timer

[recklessenough]

I. The Terrace

[ No matter what the weather was like just moments ago, there is a gradual shift to rain.

It starts light. Then, gradually, becomes steady. Eventually it develops into the sort of soaking downpour that even an deep Atlantic rain gear wouldn't be able to withstand.

Not long after the worst settles in, the slim figure of a young man, still in his adolescence appears. Despite being soaked through, his dark hair plastered to his pale forehead, his smile can only be described as megawatt. As if it contains the full warmth of the sun within. His voice, when he speaks, is low and posh but cheerful as he makes a genuine effort to be engaging; even with strangers. ]

Hello! Have you taken a wrong turn? I believe I may have done so about three turns back, this maze is quite tricky.


II. The Kitchen - Network/Action [OOC: THREADJACK ENCOURAGED!. Our lovely mod has provided a list of dubious tea experiences. Anyone interested in having an RNG experience of which tea they get? Because marmite tea. Yum ... yum? ]

[ It isn't as if he feels any physical urges for tea. It is strictly a self soothing habit to search out and then prepare tea. It is also a self soothing habit to offer tea to others.

There may be an argument to be made for Lockwood to have tasted each of the teas before he put them on offer. But that's probably going to be a lesson learned; after the fact. ]

Un: Lockwood I don't know about the rest of you, but I've always found that impossible situations seem less impossible over a cup of tea.

To this end. I've scrounged through the kitchen, and I've found a selection of tea leaves on offer.

If you're concerned about the ghosts and their odd demands, not to worry. Ghost hunting is my business back home. I know all the tricks to keep them at bay. Besides that, I think they've found me a bit boring to be honest. Too young to have any good love stories to share.

III. The Dungeons

[ It's no secret that Lockwood enjoys his own reflection. At least, that is the image he likes to project.

He has come down here with a purpose in mind, having heard others mention the young man incarcerated -at least last he heard- down here. The mirrors, however, have caught his attention.

Lockwood's expression is pensive, and there is a lost quality in his dark eye, as he watches an older version of himself -trapped within the reflective frame- stumble about. There is a half broken marionette quality to his reflection that seems to fascinate him in the present, and his usual brilliant smile is absent.

Without the animation of his habitual smile, his eye are deeply sunken in their sockets, the bruised shadows under his eyes highlighted by the hollows through his cheeks. It gives him the appearance of being more skeletal than the actually skeletons rattling around in the corridors. ]

ii. network

[redhourglass]

( ... tea. seriously? but also... )

what kind of tea

and what kind of ghosts

[recklessenough]

[ In some ways he's a walking stereotype. ]

Regretfully, not the kind of ghosts of which I am capable of getting rid. [ And this bothers him, for so many reason. ]

The teas ... range. The one that smells like mint; seems safe. There is a more floral sort that isn't rotting in its tin, and also one that smells like a more traditional tea.

There is a third I'm not sure about, and one that is an 'absolutely not'.

[redhourglass]

what kind of ghosts are you usually able to get rid of?

( and where was this dude with the specters that have been haunting them for the past month?!?! )

have you tried any of the teas?

[recklessenough]

Type Ones, specialize in Type Twos... [ He starts to type and then stops, reminding himself that he's not back home and these terms won't mean much to anyone else. ]

In my world, all sorts of types. It's complicated, but boils down to this. Ghosts in my world kill people. Agents -like myself- are trained, and uniquely equipped to hunt, fight and neutralize ghosts.

Imagine my consternation when I arrived here in this world to find my usually methods are, to date, ineffective.

[ He'd been doing his best, Nat! But those damn Milk Toothed Babes had driven him to want to rip his hair out. ]

I will admit that I have yet to try any of them. Though I plan to make this more traditional smelling one, and perhaps give it a go. [ Or he may just go through the ritual of making the tea, then do the smart thing and pour it down the nearest drain. With Lockwood, it was a toss-up. ]

Would you like me to brew you a cup?

[redhourglass]

( over the past few years, she’s had to re-evaluate what she thought was possible… or even plausible. so ghosts and agents trained to kill them — even though it sounds very men in black to her — isn’t even the weirdest thing she’s learned about recently. probably not even the weirdest thing this week. )

what kind of methods?

why not
i’m at a dead end right now anyway - if it smells too sketchy i don’t have to drink it

ii. network...

[downswing]

You trust their drink?

[recklessenough]

It's complicated.

I've come across a friend here, and as you might suspect she's finding this all very overwhelming. I couldn't find any toast to make for her, so that leaves the tea.

Comforts of home.

[ His relationship with Lucy, and George has many facets; more so with Lucy than with George. But it boils down to his habits of looking after them; like an older sibling at times. ]

[downswing]

Bide her a night's fair sleep.

[recklessenough]

You genuinely believe any of us could get a fair night's sleep in this place?

I've already been woken three times by that bloody bear.

[downswing]

It favours you?

As it does Wei Ying.

[recklessenough]

I'm not sure I would make such a claim. Or use such terminology.

[ If it 'favored' him, then wouldn't it let him get more than a couple hours sleep at a stretch??? ]

2. network absolutely; un: man's greatest treasure

[reparo]

They give up after a while - maybe these ghosts have a short attention span. It can get worse - it was worse in the Unwinding, which would take forever to explain, so...another time. You mentioned tea?

[recklessenough]

As a rule, ghosts do have short attention spans. They're either tremendously goal oriented, or on some sort of death loop.

[ Stop being a nerd Anthony. You're not nearly as good at it as George. ]

I did! Some are obviously dodgy, staying away from those, a couple I can't quite identify but that still leaves 3 that I'm fairly confident in. Or at least as confident as one should be while guest of a necromancer.

Can I brew you a cup?

[reparo]

[ wow, thanks for mansplaining ghosts. ]

Is that the rule? Well, given that you are the authority on them...

[ she knows ghosts who were not even aware they were ghosts, and that's not even beginning to scrape the surface of Hogwarts ghosts. ]

Black or green?

[recklessenough]

[ Regretfully, it's the least of his bad habits sometimes. ]

At home, yes I am. I've been fighting them since I was six years old, and you don't live long in my profession, unless you know what you're doing.

Though I am finding out, quite rapidly, that the rules for the ones in my world are not the same here. For which I am very thankful.

There is a mint, something with a floral scent and I Darjeeling, that I think I'm going to give a go.

1/2

[reparo]

You've been fighting ghosts since you were six?!

switches to audio

[reparo]

Sorry, the written messages don't quite convey the tone, I've found. [Also yes, the very British accent.] Six years old is awfully young to be started on this sort of a...life experience.

[recklessenough]

[ So much British up in here. His own tone is deep, oddly reassuring and older sounding than his face would ever suggest. ]

It's when many children, who are going to have Talent, begin to display it. Though legally you have to be thirteen before you join an agency and actually get paid. We begin training and fighting much earlier, and I was orphaned at six, so it was a natural step for me.

It is all complicated, but the world has been under siege from ghosts -we call them Visitors- for about fifty years. In my world, a single touch from a ghost, from the ectoplasm, kills the living almost instantly. Nearly two million have died in Great Britain alone from ghost touch.

Adults do not have the psychic ability to see or sense ghosts. Only children and teens, so we're the ones doing the fighting and protecting. Most of us die on the job, about eighty percent, but those who manage to live long enough see their Talents fade as they age. Eventually they become as useless against the Visitors as any other adult.

II

[makemeasong]

[ It isn't so much the tea that captures Clara's attention, as it is the 'ghost job' explanation. That piques her interest, and so she makes her way to the kitchen and pokes her head through the door warily. ]

I'm here for the random assortment of tea and the protection from ghosts.

[ She nods to the chair. ]

You don't mind if I join you, then?

[recklessenough]

[ Clara caught him a little off guard, which was probably evident in the way he turned quickly, hand dropping to the hilt of the rapier that swung at his hip. But just as quickly, his sharp and focused expression, morphed into a ready and brilliant smile.

It helped that Clara's energy was immediately infectious. ]

I believe I can see to both of those requests! [ He exclaimed and he executed a grand gesture with his hand, inviting her with welcome to the chair she indicated. ] Please, have a seat and I shall lay out the tea offerings for your choice.

[makemeasong]

Definitely didn't mean to startle you. Which is, I think, Alanis Morriesette's definition of 'Ironic' in this situation.

[ Unable to help smiling as she sits, she's as relaxed as she thinks she can be right now. He reminds her of someone already, and yet for now, she hasn't placed who. ]

I have to admit, even though tea is my life's blood, the ghost bit really caught my attention. Could you possibly be up for respectful yet deeply curious questions?

[recklessenough]

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

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

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

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

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

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

[makemeasong]

[ Alas, it was a great reference. It's also not the first time Clara's paid no heed to the possibility someone might be from an alternate version of her world. She knows it's possible, but at the end of the day, it isn't the most important thing when trying to survive.

In that sense, this is actually sort of...nice? Mystery tea with a mystery person, and possibly mystery guests. Honestly, it's her sort of tea. Of course she has to go for the mystery brew, and she leans in to smell the leaves. ]

Oh, okay this one smells like my students after phys ed day. Maybe it's like cheese and tastes better than it smells. I'm doing it.

[ And so she shall. And while it has to steep, she'll ask her first question. ]

How do ghosts act in your home? Because here, they are fucking rude and personal.

[recklessenough]

[ Lockwood looks dubious at her choice, but he can also appreciate the spirit it takes to roll all in on the unknown. Hopefully she won't blame him when her tea comes up marmite! ]

I'm not sure I would put much faith in anything that smells like after students physical education course, but I admire your sense of adventure.

[ Flashing her that quicksilver grin, it should not come as a surprise that he is efficient in his actions of heating the water and preparing the mug. Though the kitchen is a good size, he still has to shift lean hips to keep the rapier from becoming jammed into the cabinets. It is an act of navigation he manages without conscious thought. ]

Ghosts in my world are lethal to the living. [ He explains, voice calm and matter of fact. ] A single touch to living flesh kills. They've become so numerous we call it The Problem and it has been prevalent in my world since the late eighties. Close to two million people have died, in Great Britain alone, of ghost touch.

[ As he explains, hot water is added to the tea in the mug and he carefully sets the mug down in front of her. Beside the mug, he adds a small saucer for her to place the tea ball once she's steeped it to her liking. Sugar is likewise on offer, and then a rueful smile. ]

Don't believe I'd trust the cream in this place, and I haven't been able to find any lemons.

I'm Lockwood by the way. Anthony Lockwood, but people usually call me Lockwood.