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!

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Oh.

[Yeah that sure is A Lot when you put it all out there like that. Ruka looks apologetic, as if somehow she had something to do with this.]

I'm sorry. You probably... [She trails off, chewing her bottom lip a moment before continuing] YOu probably won't get to go home, not right away, anyhow. I've been here for a few months now and haven't found a way home yet. At most the tokens will at least put us back in the right path for this world.

Months.

( That careful calm fractures a little, Wen Kexing's voice going sharp. Panic is a beast he keeps tightly leashed but it snaps at the bars of his ribcage now, all teeth and snarling edges. Months. He cannot spare months. There are things to be done, revenge to be had, a life to be saved.

His fist clenches at his side, hidden beneath the sleeves of his robe. )

Forgive me for my ignorance, but I have questions. ( Said almost through gritted teeth. ) What do you mean, this world? I was of the impression this task would see me free.

[She glances off and then turns, her expression calm and unassuming. Her gaze lowers, crosses to the woman in the bathtub, and she makes a small 'mm' noise of understanding]

I'm sure. [She's sure he has many questions, but she doesn't know how many she can actually answer. She looks down again, before she reaches for her bag to pull out her notebook.

Flipping through it, idly checking her notes, she speaks:] People have been brought in from all sorts of different places, for a reason I don't know. I think we're moving from country to country trying to find the way back to our homes, but it's been a long time. Some people have been here for at least a year or so, and there isn't an end so far.

So...presumably...Even if we do what we're supposed to here, there's no guarantee you'll go back home right away. [Ruka pauses and glances over, tilting her head considering.] But you might. There's just no guarantee.

...I'm sorry.

( A year.

Zhou Zishu has two to live, at most, and that is only if Wen Kexing doggedly seeks out a cure. Without him to berate the fool, would he even bother to try? Presumably not. No, he would simply pass on all his worldly knowledge to the boy and then slope off to die, alone. He feels sick, nausea rising like a wave, and he has to grasp the sink with one hand to steady himself before the wavering of the room. )

I need to find the token.

( Mostly to himself, as Wen Kexing does his best to shake off the fear in favour of reaching out to the cabinets again, throwing them open. ) That's what they want, isn't it? A bargaining chip then, for answers.

[She takes a step forward as if about to try and comfort him, but then after some hesitation she decides against it.

Instead she puts her notebook away and begins to open cabinets, looking for one of the tokens] It's worth trying. [She says evenly, though she can't say if it'll lead to any outcome he wants. But that'll be Karsa's problem to deal with, she supposes.

After moving some empty jars aside, she asks:] What's your name?

Wen. Wen Kexing.

( And because he is not so far gone with anxiety that he will not overlook a potential ally, he stops rooting around in one of the cabinets in favour of glancing back her way. )

And yours, young mistress?

( There is nothing in the first cabinet but a few dusty glass jars, Wen Kexing pulls one out just in case, holding it up to the dim light above his head. There are very few fingerprints on it, presumably they are all his own. He stares at it for a second anyway. ) You mentioned you've been here for months, were you brought by the same woman? Karsa, was it?

Oh, it's Ruka. Uh, Minazuki Ruka. Pleased to meet you, sorry for not introducing myself before.

[The question makes her pause before she fiddles for her bag, pulling her notebook out to flip through it for her notes.]

Mm, no. Karsa is trying to help us, as far as I know. No one really knows who brought us here. Someone might know why, but it isn't me. [She's not sure why they're supposed to be here, she's just along for the ride.]

You should talk to Lan Wangji, or a boy named Five. They've been here for even longer than I have, they'll probably know a lot more.

[She takes her time to write his name down in her notes, along with a brief description of his appearance.]

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

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

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

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

[She nods absently, closing the notebook to hold it and the pen in one hand, freeing the other as she pokes around some more.]

Karsa helps, and there's a couple of others. I'm not sure why exactly they're helping us... I guess because we're helping them too. I think they want to figure out what's going on too.

Or maybe there's something more. [She shrugs as if to say' who knows?'] Either way, they help move us from place to place and help with new identities if we need them.

I haven't really moved with them yet from one country to another though. We've been stuck in the current one for a little while. I assume we'll go somewhere new once we fix this...thing. [Whatever is happening here. She waves her free hand as if to say 'you know, here'<.small>]

New identites?

( The more he knows of this place, the more questions he has. It doesn't help the lingering headache, the sickness rolling in his belly. It doesn't help his fury either. He does not want to be here, has not asked for any of this, and while he is no stranger to having his hand forced that he cannot yet snap back is a struggle. )

How kind.

( Said like a man who doesn't think it's very kind at all. )

I met a man who told me the people of this world are often at war. Wars need soldiers. Convenient then that we are here.

It's kinder than what they could've done. [If they're stuck here anyhow, they could've just been left to fend for themselves entirely. Having some help, mysterious as the motives may be, is at least something.

But she turns and looks at him, curious and searching.] Most of us aren't exactly soldiers. [She pauses, considering, and then amends] Well, maybe that's not true, but I know I'm not one. It'd probably do me better if I was. [Oh well. For now she'll have to make do with being a liability with a notebook and make sure to stay out of the way.

She doesn't seem too upset about it either way, but then she's been almost unnaturally calm for a while now so]

( Food for powder then. Kindly, Wen Kexing doesn't speak that thought out loud. He looks Ruka over again, thoughtful. )

I'm sure you have some use.

( Even if it is the aforementioned expendability kind. Then, with more positivity. ) Most people do, even if they don't know it yet. ( Cabinet abandoned, Wen Kexing crouches to look beneath the sink, running his fingers curiously over the metal pipes. There's nothing there either, and he lifts his gaze to the woman in the bath. )

Have the every asked you to look for these things before?

Hm. [She doesn't sound too convinced at that, but she also doesn't seem to take offense to it either.] I do have a good notebook that I write everything down in. Suppose that might be useful.

[She wanders to another cabinet, looking idly at the contents] And I can see ghosts, but they seem to like making themselves visible to everyone, so it doesn't seem to matter. I suppose my music could be helpful, if I could ever find a piano...

[She really needs to learn a more portable instrument, dammit. She wanders to the tub, looking quietly at the woman, who ignores her as Ruka sticks her hand fearlessly into the murky water that fills it to feel around.]

Hmm, I'm not sure... Not recently, anyhow.

( The being able to see ghosts does give him a momentary smile. It would amuse him, even if they weren't in the company of an actual spirit. But it's there and then gone, replaced once more with his usual curious air. He gives her another glance, one eyebrow arched just slightly. )

Your music?

( He doesn't sound surprised. She would be one in a number who he's met with the ability to use music in any manner of ways. But he doesn't know the specifics, and that's what has him more than interested. )

I confess I don't know what a piano is, but if you describe it I could help you look.

Mm. My home was known for its music and the dances. And its mask-making.

[Well, one dance in particular, but whatever. She pulls her hand back, flicking the water from it]

It's large. Umm... [She hesitates, trying to figure out what todo with the wet hand before she just dries it on her skirt, opening her notebook to find a rough sketch of a piano, among some notes about Lan Xichen.

She holds it out to him] It looks like this. It's not portable, but it can sound beautiful. There might be one around, but I only just started exploring.

[There IS one in another room but she hasn't seen it yet]

( He hums in response, interested. )

Well, it's not here. But maybe this place has a music room? Grand places usually do, don't they?

( The architecture is obviously different from what he's used to, but the building itself is spacious enough, gives off wealth enough that he can draw some similarities. )

Can you use your music for anything, or is it merely an endeavour in culture?

[She turns her notebook back around toward her, giving a soft 'hmm' of consideration] They might.

[The question makes her hesitates again, eyes flickering to him in quiet assessment. Whatever she sees either satisfies her, or she decides it doesn't matter, because she gives a little shrug]

A lot of my music can help soothe and relax, or it can make someone feel more upbeat and energized. And I know a song that can help prompt buried memories, but... [She looks a bit embarrassed, moving her hair out of her eyes and behind her ears] I don't really remember all of it yet...

( He barely keeps his interest in check, expression placid through sheer force of will alone. Memory problems are no stranger to Wen Kexing after all, the soup doing enough to leave him without solid grasp of his time before the Valley. A part of him wants to demand more answers, but he always keeps his cards close to his chest and that has not failed him yet.

So instead, he focuses on the little he can give. )

I use the xiao to the same effect. My Ah-Xu sleeps poorly, but always better if I do play.

( Outside of his window, like a creep. )

[She nods in understanding, flipping idly through her book]

My mother was the last of a line of priestesses who used music to heal or to manipulate emotions. It was their job to figure out what song worked best for what situation, it was amazing.

But there’s an illness from my island that causes memory loss. There’s no cure, but… the song should help, if I can ever remember the rest of it.

[She pauses back on the page about Lan Xichen, tapping it light]

Lan Xichen also plays a xiao. He played once for everyone to help them sleep. Maybe you two can play together.

( She gives away answers without his prompting, and Wen Kexing feels a little pang in his chest at how much that reminds him of Gu Xiang. No amount of bullying has ever worked to have her mouth kept shut. Still, he smiles a little when Ruka mentions her mother, something more genuine that the last one. ) I imagine it must have been.

But an illness? ( A hum, thoughtful. ) Is that why the rest of the song eludes you?

( He rises back onto his feet, looking over at her notebook. ) Maybe we can.

[She doesn't fight if he wants to take the notebook or anything either, calm throughout. None of it's stuff that can't be known, just like with her illness--she has no reason to hide any of it.

So she nods with a soft 'mm' of acknowledgement.] I don't remember anything from my childhood. And since the illness has come back, I'm worried my memory will start to go again, so everything's written down now.

But I haven't shown many of the symptoms, so it's likely dormant again, for now... [A pause and she adds reassuringly,] It isn't contagious right now either.

But it can be?

( Wen Kexing looks away from her notes and back to her, his gaze searching her face for a second. She could be lying. She could be telling the truth. Either way, he doesn't do anything as plebeian as put space between them, nor does he react with anything other than mild curiosity. )

How do people usually react when you tell them such things?

( Because he can imagine it going very, very badly. )

[She's quiet for a moment before she nods slowly.] There are four stages of the disease. The first two stages are fine, but the third stage is when it starts effecting others. Prolonged contact can cause others to get sick, or... To decide to end it there.

[She purses her lips, clutching the books a moment before she shakes her head]

No one's been bad about it, thankfully. Most just have questions, but no one's seemed concerned. It's a rare illness-- it doesn't really happen outside of the island I used to live on.

( Prolonged contact.

Well, he doubts the handful of minutes lingering in a bathroom can do very much. He'll just have to keep that in mind if it's a repeat performance. ) What's the first stage? ( Still very much with his overall unbothered tone, but he'd like to know what he's to keep an eye out for.

Then, as if to soften some sort of blow. ) I know a little of the healing arts. Perhaps I can keep it in my thoughts.

Budding. [Her expression becomes a bit distant, recalling what she knows. ] The victim becomes frightened of their own reflection... Because when you look in the mirror, you don't recognize yourself. Your face blooms-- that is, to you, your face is...blurry. Warped, unrecognizable. People with Moonlight Syndrome look into a mirror and see a complete stranger.

[She's quiet, considering that it's been a long, long time since she's seen her reflection. She doesn't really remember what she looks like anymore.]

You start becoming affected by the moon-- staring at it, always wanting to see it. Patients get more agitated the closer it gets to a new moon, and more excitable the closer it gets to a full moon. They start wandering at night and sleepwalking. They start to become forgetful.

[She pauses and blinks, surprised by the offer. It touches her, even if she knows it futile.] ....There's no real cure, unfortunately. But I won't say no to anyone who wants to try and help.

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wifedup - 2023-08-15 15:39 (UTC) - Expand

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