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!

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

An evil necromancer was exiled into a pocket dimension.

He's serving time.

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...!

Edited 2023-07-26 18:18 (UTC)

In the fashion world, pocket dimensions are known for their timeless style.

Comment here with one of the rooms of the Grounds (kitchens/bathing rooms/sleeping chambers) where your character will be furiously examining, and where they're likely to be looking. If you have a preference, mention if you're more interested in them finding a chain-breaking scroll piece or a talisman.

You'll receive back a prompt with what they find, where and in what state!

You can come back and request an additional clue, once you've threaded out discovering the first one. Please make your last clue requests by 7 August.

Please submit your link with a completed thread* of getting the dog's key and releasing the prisoner before 6 August and learn the aftermath...!

*only the part of the thread dealing with the prisoner's release has to be finalised by the deadline!

Whether they're Ellethian tokens rescued from the dungeons or the Dawn's Reach Trade Company's strange talismans, Karsa must receive all waypoints for activation, to ensure the party scuttles out of the pocket dimension.

Comment here with your completed threads* of retrieving a waypoint token by 9 August, please!

*only the thread part dealing with retrieving the waypoint needs to have finished by this deadline. You're welcome to keep playing after!

With regards to the maze reflecting moods, can this be underlying feelings or does it follow surface feelings?

For example, River always carries some anger and maybe a bit of sadness, but she's also excellent at hiding what she's thinking and feeling, sometimes even from herself. So like, can I plague her with a puzzling humid heatwave? Or on the flip side, would the ability to mask her actual feelings be super helpful if they wanted the weather to take a more pleasant turn?

Heya! I admit I'm not 100% following, so apologies if I'm not addressing completely — I'd say, go with whatever feeling surfaces through?

It's all good. I might not have been totally clear! But I think that answers the question!

Yepyep, prioritise whatever you have fun with! It's mostly there to make first encounter awkward, so do rain or heatwave on folks at will!

i. the terrace | the old man

( Honour the ancestors, guard sympathy for elders. Spare them the choicest cuts of feasting meats and lend them the great breadth of your back when their frail limbs wither, and they need carrying across a cold, cruel world.

These are the guidelines. Less set in every stone Thor that would now wish to take in his two hands and summarily crumble is this: this old knot of bones and gristle who keeps springing up from hard ground to prick Thor's calves with his needle-stick is a pest. A nuisance. Worthy of stumping, swatting, and other such hardships that, on close scrutiny, Thor suspects have already been visited on the man's dentures.

Bad enough, to be summoned to a strange new world like an awkward second-grade meteor bereft a convenient waiting gallery of overgrown lizards, lined up for extermination. Now, trotting merrily and wine-free down every winding path, he is forced to breathe in the fresh air, take in the roses, bask in the brilliance of the idyllic apocalyptic pinked sun —

And not crush the old man who suddenly blitzes out of a bush to thwap his knees — again. How is the old man this fast? Worse still, how does he retreat, shivered and cackling, behind a wall of vines and think he goes unseen?

Thor's fists fingers roll and, knuckles snowed, curl into tight fists. Release. Pulse closed again. And he mutters, to whoever's been stranded cruising the maze beside him: )

He... tests me. Like rot tested his teeth, and shiny things test the friend Hulk.

ii. kitchens

( The cauldron soup recipe du jour, such as a rug-apron Thor has been obediently observing under the careful watch of thirteen specters, each more particular about about his julienne, paysanne, baton and chiffonade than the last: pinch of salt, pile of despair, sprinkling of three-headed snake's scales, gleaming leather of a thrice boiled boot, and now —

No. No, he searches their faces, stern. The ceiling, unresponsive. The floor, crackling and sympathetically wetted, but unhelpfully not opening up to consume him whole. Then, finally landing on his assistant in this matter: )

A children's knock-knock jest. ( A beat. ) For seasoning. ( Here, the specters all nod in perfect harmony that Thor grudgingly falls in line with, the giant ladle in his hand waved like a conductor's baton. ) Go ahead.

( They're getting out of this kitchen, dignity be damned. )

iii. dungeons | the prisoner

( Here is the trouble with angst-ridden, arrogant, likely overly skilled and questionably moral agents of imprisoned chaos: they're always neatly deposited behind bars for a reason.

Not that Thor has experienced precedent (Loki), that he knows precisely the kind of creature of trickery who takes ultimate advantage of a gentle stranger's rescue (Loki), or that Thor looks at this prisoner's gaunt, disheveled and haughty manner and suffers a flicker of familiarity (Lo... ki). No, no. He has crossed the dungeons' level whole, shrugged off a meteor's weight of dust off his shoulders, then politely dived back into it to retrieve a pitifully meek slate of token stone — and now he gets to enjoy the privilege of taking standing orders from a watered-down version of his brother.

This is a farce. Worse, it's family dinner.

And so, being the most experienced man in this world and the next (ten), he gently intercedes with an oily grimace and a hand held up high, when his companion seems, however minutely, to consider collecting up the hound's keys. No, no. )

Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiii do not think it wise.

iv. network | username: strongest avenger

Henceforth, one and all, your bear privileges are removed.

It is not the way of my people to take that which we did not give. You have your birthright. I honour it.

...unless it is a bear, mad, raving and snuggle-prone. The bear is banned. No more bear for you, or you, or you.

THE TERRACE

[ Merrin isn’t particularly happy about being “summoned” by undead lords—the dead don’t summon her; she summons the dead—but it does placate her somewhat that there’s a seemingly straight-forward way out, and that this place exists outside of time. She’s worried about Cal, Greez, and Kata back home. That, and she has things to do.

Though it doesn’t show much on her face beyond a faint frown, her worry and ire are reflected in the weather, which fluctuates between overcast and chilly, then clear and humid.

Even when she doesn’t appear to be there. Unsuspecting maze explorers who might think they’re alone may find themselves suddenly not alone anymore when Merrin blinks into existence next to them—or behind them—out of nothing but a cloud of misty green ichor. One second she’s not there, and the next she is.

Without any preamble whatsoever, she says: ] You’re searching for these waypoints as well?

[ Her Dathomiri accent is pronounced and coincidently Slavic-sounding. ]

THE GROUNDS

▶KITCHENS [ The specters haunting the grounds don’t bother Merrin in the least—it almost makes the place feel like home. But Goddess help her, these spirits are restless. It makes her lose a little respect for whoever must’ve raised them, since they seem to be trapped outside the Spirit World, alternating between awareness and not. Did the spell go wrong?

But she doesn’t mind helping the kitchen spirits, if only because they seem so hung up on perfecting their meal. So she only tests the doors once, just to make sure they’re well and truly barred (they are), before taking heed of their instructions. ]

A love story?

[ She fixes her gaze on the other person trapped in here with her, arching her eyebrows in an expectant way. ]

You must have one, yes? [ Is she throwing you to the rancors? ]

▶SLEEPING CHAMBERS [ Merrin isn’t much of a student of history, but the pages on magic—without a k—certainly interest her, even if the vast majority of them seem to be focused on achieving immortality, for some reason. ]

Foolish.

[ It’s a soft aside. Death is unavoidable, a lesson she learned the hard way. According to her people, death is an essential part of life. Natural and necessary. Nightsisters may not celebrate death, but they do not fear it either.

Gathering up as many of the pages as she can find, she settles onto an overstuffed cushion to read them, hoping to find some more insight into what’s happening here—or at least some magic more compelling that the quest for eternal life. Either way. ]

THE DUNGEONS

[ There’s tension in the line of her shoulders when Merrin comes across the patrolling skeletons, though she doesn’t reach for the knife attached to her belt just yet. The tension remains even though the skeletons don’t attack (yet)—call her paranoid, but one doesn’t go through the effort of reanimating and arming a bunch of corpses for peaceful reasons.

She would know.

That said, she ignores the skeletons as long as they ignore her, slipping past a pair of them in the corridor in order to approach a large stone door that radiates magickal energy—which has to be significant. Why cast a spell to protect nothing? ]

There is magick here. [ A pause. She leans a little closer to the door, straining to listen. ] Do you hear that?

WILDCARD

[ feel free to throw whatever you want my way if the spirit so moves you, i’m down for anything!! i can also fw either brackets or prose, whatever your preference. merrin is from the very end of jedi: survivor, so please let me know if you’d like me to avoid spoilers? ]

A. THE TERRACE

[it's beautiful here.

Diamond was laid out on the grass, eyes closed as they peacefully listened to the sound of the wind and whatever else might be going on, a small smile on their face. In the sunlight they glitter and glow, their iridescent hair and eyelashes sending rainbow lights scattering along the ground.

It's nostalgic, so Dia allows themselves to soak it in. They can't be upset over this new development--after all, Dia and their kind went centuries without any changes. Something like this was novel. The idea of being able to change was too enticing for Diamond to pass up.

But for now they were content to relax, at least until they hear people coming closer.

Their eyes open--the same iridescent color at their hair and nails--and they sit up, turning to see whoever is approaching. Eagerly they climb to their feet, hurrying over] Excuse me! You're a human, aren't you? Wow, I've never seen one up close before. You're so cute!

[Regardless of how you might actually look, Diamond, at least, thinks you're adorable...And is currently circling you and fawning over you like you were an animal. It's fine. Probably.]

B. Sleeping Chambers

[Somewhere, there is an unearthly glowing. If you follow it to its source, it appears to be...a person?? Just on the ground??

Diamond lays curled up on their side, their hair seeming to glow with its own light as they nap. If you try to touch them, you'll find their body unnaturally hard and freezing cold, much like putting your hands on a cold rock. Their 'skin' is also not that at all, but a powder that won't be coming off anytime soon, but done in a way to give the illusion of skin.

They barely stir though, seeming content to just lay there and doze, but... Surely that's not good for them, right? If anything, the glowing might be obnoxious and distracting at least...]

C. Dungeons
[At some point on this misadventure, Diamond's arm has gotten broken.

But, like. Literally. In half.

But the effect is rather gorgeous, once you get over the fact that Diamond is currently wandering around with a jagged point just past their elbow, sparkling like, well, diamonds, and they're carrying the pieces and their hand in a bag.]

Um, excuse me? Could you give me a-- [Diamond at least has the grace to look sheepish as they wave the bag] A hand? Haha! I need to make sure I got all the pieces, but I can't open it so easily with only one hand...

[Allison doesn't recognize the username but ... she does recognize the bear.]

White bear, somehow always knows how to find you no matter where you go?

[Just hazarding a guess. At least he's not stalking Wei Wuxian for a change.

... Sorry Thor.]

The Terrace

( Something unsettles her in this place, the garden beautiful and menacing, and just out of step. Unbound from time, it prickles against her skin, reminding her of The Library. For a time, the air, hot and heavy with the threat of rain, feels suffocating. But she presses on through the twisting maze, deeper and deeper, following phantom screams. Until eventually, she catches sight of a staircase, long and spiraling. Gorgeous, really. )

Well, hello. I wonder where you lead.

Bathing Quarters

( It looks like something out of a horror film. Or, perhaps, a true crime? She hasn't passed anyone injured, there's no body to be found. So she wonders, is this a glimpse of the past? The future? This place doesn't abide by her rules.

Hearing someone approach, she stiffens almost imperceptibly but doesn't immediately turn around. )

Do you ever get the feeling you've seen this movie somewhere before?

The Dungeons

( River's not exactly thrilled by how readily she accepts the living dead these days. Or magic. But is it really so many steps from science and aliens? Of course there's a magically-barred door with skeleton guards. )

They don't look like they'll put up much of a fight. ( There's a faint, teasing glimmer in her eyes that can only mean trouble. ) The three truths of each day. Any ideas?

( She likes a good puzzle, but sometimes she gets a little impatient for the solving. )

Wildcard

( ooc: Hit me up via formallyintroduced or discord @ formallyintroduced or just drop me a PM if you'd like to chat/plot/want a more customized starter. Or just do your own thing and we can roll with it! )

I. The Terrace

[A thundercloud grumbles softly overhead, following Zari around in an irritatingly Eyeore-ish manner. It's so annoying that, even as the thundercloud continues to build slowly, dripping heavy rain at periodic intervals, the weather around her is also becoming increasingly, uncomfortably, warm.

She's not meandering with any particular purpose. She's not in any rush to find waypoint tokens. For all she knows, the home she left doesn't exist anymore, or is so different that it might as well not exist. She might not have any place in it. She's not entirely convinced she didn't accidentally create this place somehow. The dangers of time travel.

Arms crossed petulantly over her chest, she lets her head fall back and utters a groan up at the sky. Her reward for this is another bout of rain directly on her face.

Before she can finish wiping the water out of her eyes, a bloodcurdling scream tears through the hedge maze. Zari takes off running towards the source, not caring who she's running past – or directly into.]

II. The Grounds (Kitchens)

[Zari never learned how to make a decent meal, and every ghost in the kitchen is being very certain to let her know that, even as they continue to pressure her to cook for them. She's doing a terrible job of chopping up some dried bat wings when the ghosts inform her of the next ingredient.

She scoffs.]

Yeah, I'm not telling you a love story.

[Her boyfriend just died. Like, literally just died. And she certainly has not processed the emotional rollercoaster of the love her life getting murdered by a demon and then resurrected by a bunch of singing circus-goers right before she was wiped from the timeline. So, no, she doesn't want to tell - or even hear, really - a love story.

She looks up to the other hapless victim of these culinary spirits, raising an eyebrow in a silent question: do you want to tell them one?]

III. The Dungeons

[The skeletons haven't really been bothering her, so Zari hasn't really been bothering them, perfectly content to just wander around, exploring at her own pace, trying not to be freaked out by all the ever-so-slightly off reflections of herself looking out at her from all the broken mirrors. Why are there so many mirrors in a dungeon? Are they there for the express purpose of upping the creepy factor? If so, it's working.

But once she stumbles across a massive stone door engraved with writing, things change. Now the skeletons are all angry, and she can tell that they're angry because they're marching very deliberately to block her path to the door, swords raised.

Someone else seems to have found the door at the same time. Zari grimaces at them.]

You think those skeletons're gonna open the door for us?

IV. Wildcard!

[Go hog wild folks, I'm up for anything.]

[Kamala's cooking skills begin and end with being able to do whatever her mother instructs her to do in the kitchen. It's not going well for either of them. Kamala at least has the practice of being Ammi's little helper. She has the energy of someone used to faking it until they make it.

Regardless, she gives a thumbs up when Zari looks her way.] I've got us!

[She proceeds to recap the plot of Disney's Beauty and the Beast. Really, they asked for it.]

TERRACE & CO

[ [ despite her bemusement, lucy is used to taking in a lot of information while her head is pounding and nerves are crawling up her spine. that's what ghost hunting is, essentially, especially since it is up to Talented youth to expel and remove ghosts. she's sixteen, it shouldn't be up to children to rid the british isles of ghosts and yet she's been an agent since she was eight years old, advancing to her grade three certificate by the time she was eleven.

so far she's not seen lockwood or george and she's not seen a single biscuit, which she may be more desperate for. not because she's hungry, but because she wants something to nibble on from the stress of it all. there is no tea either, so she's really at a disadvantage here.

she frowns, looking around. ]

Are we meant to do this unarmed? Without any supplies? [ she asks no one, thinking aloud. ]

GROUNDS & CO

[ lucy's Sight is poor. (her eyesight is fine, no need for glasses, but sometimes it feels like the ghosts have to be right on top of her or oozing blood from the ceiling to see them so it's best not to say she can see them even if she can. sometimes.)

like now, with blood pooling beneath the tub, drip, drip, dripping over the edge of the porcelain, splattered across the tile and the ripped curtain. it's like the aftermath of the scene in psycho. she doesn't have anything to defend herself; no rapier, no irons, no salt bombs, no lockwood.

just herself and the ghost rising from the tub like she's come right from the drain, hair lank, a type two, a spectre, clear and defined. even if lucy couldn't see her, and she can, she very much can, she can hear the woman when the ghost begins to speak. lucy's Talent is Listening and even as she backs out of the room, knowing better to engage with a ghost on her own, with no weapons, nothing to protect herself, she can't help but Listen. ]

Sorry, you watched someone give birth? [ how is that relevant, ma'am! ]

DUNGEONS & CO

[ lucy doesn't dare go into the dungeons, not properly, not when she can linger at the edge of the corridor, listening. Listening. ]

Oh, I think Flo would be much more suited to this, [ lucy whispers, fingers playing at a delicate necklace with clear nerves. the undead lords should have picked a relic-man over an agent, they have no fear. ]

WILDCARD & CO

( go where your heart takes you, lucy is a nosy, teenager ghost hunter who resents adult supervision but is also very out of her depth! hit me up at plurk (baleinette) or discord (dostoevskyish) if you want something special xoxo )

A. The Terrace | A King Without a Kingdom;

[The emptiness he feels is looming. The sky is beautiful, the greenery some of the most exquisite he's ever seen, even in all of his travels, and yet he can't take it in.

Alone. Standing on this terrace even with others being sent for the same quest. He can't feel her through the bond, it's severed and gone. His body is his and his alone for the first time in decades.

The one power seems to be gone but his senses are still in tact that it's easy to feel the person trailing just behind, following in the same direction as he is. He stops when he reaches the tablets though, they profess lives lived and loved in a way that nothing else quite had yet here.

Then it appears. don’t turn your back to them, blood reeks strong on them.

Strange, given that his back was already turned. The magic here, or whatever it's called is so different then what he's used to.]

This tablet seems to think you're going to try to kill me, are you? [He asks as he turns to face the person behind him. If he was less confident in his fighting skills he'd be drawing his blade, but something tells him the danger is in the tablet itself, more then the person.]

B. The Grounds| Bathing Quarters | Nothing to Live For;

[ Baths had always been a reprieve for Lan after a long trip. Time spent with his companion to discuss the day, or the weeks, that they had been traveling since their last ability to take a long soak. They were a place that typically brought peace and calm to his mind.

Yet there was nothing peaceful about the room in front of him. Dried blood lead in a trail into the tube where a ghost of some sort was leering at him from inside the tub as he glances in from the hallway. It seems to be murmuring something to itself although he's not quite close enough to hear from this far out.

Or at least, Lan assumes this is a ghost. He's never actually seen one, which triggers his warning senses. New unforeseen threats are always the greatest of concern to him so he turns to his traveling partner.]

What do you know about ghosts around here...?

C. The Dungeons | And Nothing to Die For;

[Somethings about the dungeons aren't so different from catacombs he's been in over all of the years of his adventures as a Warder.

That is until he sees the patrolling skeletons. Is that this worlds version of Shawdowspawn? If it is, they less aggressive then any Trolloc he's ever met. Yet he won't let his guard down, not with the chance that they could turn at any time. Many things have been disconcerting as he's traveled through this path, but this by far has sent the sharpest chill down his spine.

A piece of flooring crumbles and causes him to take a leap forward out of the way. He turns to look at where the last brick his foot has been on. It's missing now and instead a large gaping hole is there allowing him to pier into the abyss.]

I thought we were already underground? How is there something still below us?

[Whatever that place is, it looks corrupted. Like no good could come from it.]

D. Wildcard ;

[[ooc: Want something different? Throw it at me or hit me up on PM or Plurk

endtransmission for something more customized. ]]

I'm what now?

[ And yeah, sure, Marty's heard "cute" before, but that's usually coming from his longtime girlfriend, who's earned the right to it. This strangely sparkly person most certainly hasn't. ]

You, um... [ Self-consciously, Marty turns up the collar of his shirt. The fabric brushes against either side of his jaw, but doesn't really help as far as obscuring his features goes. ] You not human or something?

[ Briefly, he considers the possibility they might be one of the undead freaks that supposedly got him here. They don't look very Night of the Living Dead-esque, though. ]

[ With the sound of the skeletons moving, Marty is doing his very best not to freak out. The considerably calm demeanour of the woman with him helps, but also leaves him to wonder what in the hell kind of life she lives to just be cool about all this.

But he digresses. If they were both panicking, Marty'd be boned for sure. (Heh.) ]

I'd ask which three days we're talking about, [ he looks around, ignores the shiver down the back of his neck as he hears the skeleton guards rustle, and starts walking ] but I guess that's vague on purpose.

You think these're some ancient journal entries or something? [ Marty gestures to a rather impressive stone tablet collection to the side. ] There're three shiny ones... [ He even counts each pedestal to be sure, muttering the numbers under his breath. ] ...which might match the three truths.

Unless it's a trap.

[This place definitely doesn't sit well with Cal, what with the skeleton dogs and the specters that feel like...nothing. Then again this entire world isn't exactly great, but he's here and he has to deal with it.

All the same, he tries to keep his hands to himself as he travels the rooms. There's a wrongness here and he can tell that if he were to get any Force echoes then they could very easily overwhelm him. This does, however, make his current quest for scroll hunting somewhat more difficult, but he'll cross that bridge when he comes to it or something.

As he approaches a new area, though, something familiar prickles at the edge of his senses. Something...or someone. Cal pokes his head inside, eyes immediately finding Merrin's figure. Relief floods his body, quickly followed by guilt. He's so glad to see her, but...he shouldn't wish her here. Still, he takes a moment to just look at her, allowing himself this moment of selfishness.]

...Hey, Merrin.

It has habits. That you know. And encourage?

[ She gets a similar feeling—that brush of a familiar someone—and looks up when he calls her name, her expression transforming from surprise to relief in an instant. While she'd been hoping he (or anyone else from her little family) hadn't been summoned too, she's still unreasonably glad to see him here. Her Jedi.

Now they can get out together. ]

Cal. [ She smiles, setting her reading aside and getting to her feet. As she starts crossing the room towards him, she can't help but tease: ] I should have known you would be here too. You always find a way to get yourself into trouble.

[ Then she stops, sobering—she knows that look on his face. ]

What is it?

like the wolf
cw: he can be nude in one of the below scenarios

He trots, odd figure he makes as an overly large wolf with a bundle tied across his back, and a sword sheathed and carried in his mouth, but he doesn't like the look of this new place, a place out of time. Magic continues to do no services in his estimate, first the relentless shifting of time and dead in the place they'd left, Yuncai or whatever it'd been called, to this. He's reminded of the disturbing time on the island that was no island at all, on the back of a whale, only if this all begins to sink, there's no ships to carry them to safety.

Everywhere he trots, a chill follows, even as the vines snake out from the foliage covered walls of the maze he's in. Scent alone brings him across another living soul, where he pauses depending on their circumstances.

a. if vines have captured you, he pauses. The outline of the wolf loses clarity, and soon following the blink that it takes to resolve if one's eyes have started to blur a man holding an unsheathed sword and its sheath, with a bundle tied tightly across his chest and resting across his back, moves with no semblance of modesty to attack the vines with precise, methodical distaste. At least things begin heating up. Or flashing between heat and cold. Vines, at least, fall apart when struck with tempered steel.

b. dodging the old, red-eyed, white-haired and hunchbacked man who is toddling after him attempting to sweep the wolf's legs out from under him with the cane he's carrying. Ill equipped for speech in his current form, Licyn instead leads a marry dancing leaping game of dodge, ultimately darting around behind you. Take care of talking to the old man, will you?

( ooc note: with the second option, I'll start us a thread in the NPC section for any conversation had, and roll the answers into my tags in our thread if you wish! )

down, friends

He's back to being dressed after descending the stairs, now carrying his pack and sword more traditionally, and with increasing irritation as he faces down the skeletal hounds.

"What storm-struck nonsense is this?"

He never encountered the hellhounds of Alem, having been too wise to descend to those depths of Hell, but this display is... unpleasant. Licyn grimaces, using his sheathed blade to nudge back one of the skeleton hounds pressing into his immediate personal space. With a spectral whine, the hound mouths his sheath instead, attempting to tug him down the hall.

"I'll note I don't find this comforting, Old Bones. Leave off," he says, baring his teeth as he does, almost growling, "And lead the way like a good dog."

The skeletal hounds hunch their shoulder-blades, giving no regard for any companion of his beyond an initial glance and then subtly sidestepping closer, to see if they might take hold of a sleeve that doesn't belong to the overly-magical werewolf confusing their senses.

wildcard!

( ooc note: hit me up with anything from the tdm prompt! Licyn can be found in human and wolf form, as you like. )

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the house of manouk | test drive meme

QUESTIONS

NPCs

CLUES & THREADS

THE GROUNDS | ROOM SEARCHES

THE PRISONER

WAYPOINT TOKENS

Re: QUESTIONS

Re: QUESTIONS

Re: QUESTIONS

Re: QUESTIONS

thor | mcu | tourist

merrin ☾ star wars ☾ tourist!

Diamond | Land of the Lustrous

iv. @taken for granite

River Song » Doctor Who » Old Timer

zari tomaz | dctv/legends of tomorrow | tourist

ii - Zari!! I love her!!!

lucy carlyle — lockwood & co — tourist

Lan Mandragoran | Wheel of Time | Tourist

A

the dungeons

the grounds - sleeping chambers

no subject

no subject

licyn mansbane | original character | old timer