5.0 Test Drive Meme

[wellie]

5.0 Test Drive Meme

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Welcome to Well! See the first prompt for how your characters arrive in Well. Your character arrives with only a handful of memories, clad in a mix of Old Western clothes and clothes that might fit in at a renaissance fair, and no items from home.

Anyone is free to play on the TDM, but you need an invite to apply. Feel free to use these prompts, and interact with the arrival or locations. NPCs are around, but only say a certain set of phrases. TDMs can be considered game canon.

This TDM takes place from the first week of February onward, and can happen concurrently with other events during February and March. This will be the only TDM for February, March, and April.

Applications are open January 27th until February 1st, and February 24th until March 1st. Invites are available for friends of current players.

Arrival: Six Feet Under

Content warnings: graves, being buried alive

You wake up in the ground. The hole you're in fits your body nicely. Just as you wake up, dirt spatters onto your face, into your eyes and mouth. Maybe that's what woke you up. Before you've had a chance to clear it, more dirt drops onto your body from above, again and again, in a grim rhythm. Until you get out of there it won't stop.

Unfortunately, you're six feet deep. You might want a hand.

More unfortunately, you won't get one from the person with the shovel. The gravedigger, silhouetted in black against the sky above you, will continue to shovel dirt onto you while you try to escape. Once you're out, she loses all interest and moves on to the next grave. She doesn't acknowledge you in any way.

Above the grave is a headstone: your own. It says your name and it might have your birthdate. The death date is unreadable. There may be an epitaph about your life. It doesn't look new. In fact, it looks as old and worn as the rest of the graveyard. Other open graves are scattered around in this graveyard, and other people are climbing up out of them, too. Maybe you want to lend them a hand, or maybe you want to get out of here as fast as possible.

A mossy wrought-iron gate leads out into greenery.

Now that you're out, you need to find your way... somewhere. Not here.

For current players, you're welcome to have your character wake up for the cycle like this.

tl;dr:

• You wake up in your own grave! Someone's burying you alive! Better get out of there.

The only way out

Content warnings: being eaten alive, carnivorous flowers, intoxication

The graveyard is in the middle of the maze: a sprawling hedge maze on the outskirts of Wellstone town. The ground is soft with recent rain, and the hedges are just blooming green like it's early spring. Your shoes squelch in the muck.

It starts easily enough. As you make your way deeper, though, you'll start run into things that make the maze… harder. Gigantic flowers block the way down one path, and they titter together as you get close, swaying and moving in ways that flowers shouldn't. If you do get too close, a flower lurches forward and snaps its petals around you like jaws. Are those teeth?! They're like foot-long cactus spines, sharp and deadly. You might want to get out of there, and fast. The teeth hurt, and the inside of the flower isn't a cakewalk either. It hurts your skin, and if you're in there too long, your skin may start to burn off.

Down another path are more flowers. These are smaller, and oddly fleshy in color and scent. At the center of each flower is an eye. Some of them seem familiar, although you can't figure out why. As you pass, the eyes roll, following you closely. If you make eye contact and any of these flowers, you feel a chilling wave of fear that roots you to the spot. Your stuck in its gaze, staring back at it as it stares impassively at you. You have the horrible feeling that if you stay here, something awful will happen. It grows worse and worse, more acute, but no matter how strong that fear, you can't move your feet. Someone, or something, has to break your eye contact with the flower.

At a final turn in the maze, the sweet, soft scent of lilacs fills the air. You're sure that scent means you've found the end, and that you should follow it. Naturally, it doesn't. It leads to a dead end. Again. This one, at least, is beautiful: it's a little meadow surrounded by hedges, blooming in lilacs and lavender and little purple-headed poppies. The scent is heady and overwhelming. It fills you up. It settles into your head like a haze, making it hard to focus. It seems like an amazing idea to just… stay here. Lie down, maybe, among all those nice flowers. Just for a little while, you tell yourself.

Only, it may be more than a little while. The longer you sleep in this lovely little meadow, the more vines and flowers will grow over and around your body. Eventually, they'll make their way into your nose, your ears, your mouth and start to pull you down into the soft earth. Someone's going to have to wake you up and get those vines off unless you want to stay in this maze forever!

When at last you find your way out of the maze, past the treacherous flowers, you set your sights on Wellstone: a town in the first bloom of spring, a light mist making everything dewy and bright.

tl;dr:

• After you leave the cemetery, you find yourself in the maze. There are flowers that are obstacles along your way.
• There are large, flesh-eating flowers full of teeth that want to eat you.
• There are fleshy flowers with eyes in the middle that, if you meet their gaze, hold you with fear.
• There are lilacs that lull you and make you want to lie down and take a nap. If you do, vines will wrap you up, making it very difficult to get out.
• Once you make it through all the obstacles, you can make it out of the maze into Wellstone.

Scent of death

Content warnings: bad smells, potential for body horror

It isn't just the maze blooming with the coming of spring: Wellstone itself has burst into bloom. It seems that everywhere you look, flowers have invaded the town. Sweet snowdrops poke their heads up between cobblestones. Violets wink from shadowed corners. Morning glories climb walls and line windows. They all smell wonderful, good enough to make you want to bend down and take a good, long sniff.

Except for one. Blooming in the courtyard of the Staywell, just in front of the door in a little garden circle, is a corpse flower. The flower is massive: over three meters tall, giant stamen thrusting up to the sky with frilly red leaves around its base.

It's hard to avoid the flower: any time anyone opens the door to the courtyard, the scent enters the lobby, the parlor, the cafeteria. It seems to permeate the Staywell at random times. And the scent is strange: if you try to talk to anyone about it, they don't agree with you on how it smells. And they won't agree on how it affects you.

Smelling the corpse flower makes you feel a little... strange. Its effects vary by person, and even when a person smells it more than once, the effect might change. At first you feel a rush of disgust, then nausea, then--well.

When you smell the corpse flower, you might smell:

• The most delicious thing you can imagine. You're suddenly extremely hungry and feel compelled to eat as much as possible.
  
• The most wonderful, nostalgic scent. You feel compelled to proclaim your loyalty and friendship to the next person you see.
  
• The most relaxing thing. Your body feels loose and relaxed and you feel at peace. You want to spread the love and feel compelled to get everyone else around you to chill the fuck out.
  
• Sugary sweetness. You feel an intense draw of affection toward the people around you and feel compelled to compliment them in increasingly over the top ways.
  
• The scent of raw, rotting meat. Everything around you suddenly look strangely... meaty. Is that chair made of meat? That wall? You're very acutely aware that you are made of meat, and that everyone around you is made of meat.
  
• The smell of death. You feel a horrible, creeping sense of guilt and feel compelled to confess something awful you do or do not remember doing to the next person you see.

Comment below if you'd like a random smell (or feel free to select for yourself). Effects last anywhere from half an hour to an hour. Characters can experience different effects throughout the TDM. The corpse flower will be in bloom the first week of February and the first week of March, and closed the rest of the time.

tl;dr:

• There's a corpse flower blooming in the courtyard of the Staywell.
• When you smell its scent, you'll smell a scent that makes you do--something! Select from the list what you'd like to happen, or comment below for a random effect.

Comments

astarion | bg3

[snackin]

1. six feet under
[ Astarion is on his feet in a moment, heedless of the dirt on his clothes--which he will heed, but momentarily. He glares up at the gravedigger, reflexively going for--something? A dagger, maybe, that isn't there, and he bares his teeth in a semblance of a polite smile. ]

My dear, you should really check that one's charge is indeed deceased before burying him.

[ Only, the gravedigger is still shoveling dirt, and he gets a smack of dirt to the face. He sputters and anger surges through him ]

Quite gouache, isn't it? Is this a new strategy? No one even bothers with a stake anymore--

[ Maybe he needs to stop talking because he gets another face full of dirt for his efforts and he lets out a furious cry, and starts scrambling at the sides of his dirt prison. It's taller than he is, but he can jump. He jumps, and grabs at the dirt at the sides. It slips a bit. More dirt hits his face. ]

Ah, so this is a common occurrence, is it? So common that you work to kill us? Then perhaps you should not be employed at this-- [ What to even call it? He looks around with narrowed eyes ] This!

[ Catch him in a shouting match with the silent gravedigger as he tries to make it the last few inches out of the grave, her dirt smacking him directly in the face every time he nearly gets out. ]

2. the only way out
What dreadful hells are these? [ Astarion is muttering to himself, his puffy white shirt a mess of dirt and ripped where a flower tried to take a bite out of it. Instead of meeting the eyes of the flesh flowers, he crushes one under his boot, making more of a mess with blood splattering his pants. He grimaces down at himself, then pointedly ignores the gaze of all of the flowers until he meets your gaze instead ]

Ah, another tormented soul? Or another horrific figment in employ of this place? Do tell me, what terrible fate do you have in store for me? A pit to the center of the world, perhaps? An awful beast that I must conquer with my bare hands? My dear, you have no idea what I'm capable of.

3. the scent
[ Astarion smells sweetness--sweetness he hasn't enjoyed in hundreds of years that primes his palate and endears him to everyone around him, everyone who he's gazed upon with a mix of disinterest and suspicion thus far. Only now, he sees them in a new light. Sees how the early spring light plays on a cheekbone or how the flush of life lights up one's face.

He saunters up to you (his clothes thankfully no longer the horrible, dirty mess they were from his arrival, and instead a vestige of finery that he gladly took from his closet) ]

Don't you look like an absolute treat today, my dear. [ He leans into your space, or sits down next to you, a little too close, his red eyes intent on your face. This is only the beginning of what's to come ]

2

[thinkfirst]

[ Flynn pauses on his way into that particular section of maze, his brows rising slowly at the sight he's presented with. A new face, he's pretty sure, but more than that, this man is... absolutely covered in blood and dirt. For a moment it's enough to even blot out the actual words he's saying. Flynn has to force himself to listen and take it in— does he really look like that much of a threat?

He glances down at himself—dirt-smeared and grass-stained, with a sword strapped to his hip—and then very quickly back up with his hands rising. ]

Not a beast, or anyone with a terrible fate— I'm trying to find my way out the same as you— um.

[ don't ask don't ask don't– ]

...are you alright?

[snackin]

[ Astarion focuses on this man--barely more than a boy, he thinks, from the look of him--and makes a huffing noise. No, not a terrible fate. Just a boy. ]

Fantastic, darling. Don't I look it?

[ No, he knows he doesn't. He's wearing blood and dirt like finery ]

You don't happen to know how we found ourselves in this predicament, do you?

[thinkfirst]

[ Once it's apparently been made clear that Flynn is not a threat, despite being covered in a fine layer of dirt already itching awfully at his skin, he relaxes marginally and even offers a tentative smile. A flower stares at his ankles. Its gaze itches, too, but Flynn's gotten good at ignoring those eyes. ]

While I'm not clear on the details— who brought us here, why, what we can do about it— I can tell you that it's normal enough.

[ Okay, so it isn't actually normal, and actually there is a massive part of Flynn that's still screaming find Yuri, and probably he shouldn't put anything strange into this man's head. What is the best way to explain all of this? Shouldn't Flynn be good at it by now? He needs to refine his pitch. ]

I'm afraid there's nothing to be done about being here, is the point. Somewhere is a way out of the maze. We just need to find it. I... thought I'd memorized the path, but, um. These are new.

[ A sidelong glance at the eye-flowers, and a near-miss; Flynn's gaze skims over one of the eyes and lands neatly back on Astarion. ]

I wouldn't look at them, if I were you. Or anything else.

[snackin]

A place where everything is dangerous to even look at...

[ Astarion mutters it, and moves to crush another fleshy flower with a thoughtful expression on his face. It squishes sickeningly under his heel ]

And a maze that moves. An intriguing place we find ourselves in. And you've been here before. And yet, you remember it. I find myself at a loss for many memories, or this place or any other.

[ He assesses the boy, without looking him in the eye per the warning, and decides after a moment to temporarily ally himself with this man with a sword. If he chooses to turn it on Astarion, he's certain he could defend himself long enough to flee or snap the boy's neck. ]

Which way do you believe is the exit?

2

[anglophone]

[ The flat look levelled at Astarion by the teenager in a similarly puffy white shirt, sans left sleeve from the elbow down turned into a bloody bandage for his right knee, is distinctly unfazed. ]

I was kind of thinking more escaping this stupid fucking hedge maze, [ Alec says, dryly ] but I guess we could go looking for a beast first. If you want.

[snackin]

[ Astarion almost smiles at the wry joke, and looks at this child with a tilt of his head ]

A beast is a simple task. A maze, by its nature, one can't tell what's around the corner. If you could fetch a beast and it would let me accomplish my escape, I'd be most grateful.

[anglophone]

Huh.

[ Alec contemplates that, then pairs a slight nod with an equally slight shrug. ]

Good point. [ But! As his single raised finger suggests: ] I've done this before. It's a pain in the ass, but I dunno that anybody's died before they got out.

But I guess we wouldn't know, huh? Could be a pile of bones anywhere. [ Such is life. ] Still. I'm not planning to die in here. It sucks. I want to take a bath. So, how do you feel about buddying up, buddy?

[snackin]

[ To be so blatantly asked. His brows go up, but he does smile now, inclining his head shortly. ]

How could I say no to an offer like that? [ It's almost a purr, and he's fucking with this kid by saying it like that, just for a little bit of fun. He steps over to Alec ]

You've been here before, then lead on. I'll happily destroy any terrifying flowers we happen upon.

1

[searingwing]

[A scarred hand reaches out and grabs the gravedigger’s coat. It is followed by what looks like a demon out of hell. His red hair is a mess. His eyes burn with an inner fire. His hair faintly glows at the edges with the colors of a flame. There is blood at the corners of his mouth. Diluc Ragnvindr has looked better.

He doesn’t raise a hand in violence. He just calmly walks her away then lets go and walks back. He is exhausted. He is barely standing. Sheer will is holding him up. He meets Astarion’s eyes and a horse voice breaks the possible quiet.] She won’t talk to anyone. Any staff you find around will all repeat themselves. I would assist you up. But I’m still too hot to the touch for anyone not resistant to fire.

[There are scorch marks in the ground and his boots are slightly smoking. He steps away to put himself out of the way for the moment. He coughs and adds,] I’ll answer questions if you have them.

[snackin]

[ The dirt stops, and the woman leaves, and Astarion is given a moment to breathe. He uses it to dig his boots into the side of the pit, and crawl up as well as he can, only to be met with a literally hot man, licked in flames and blood. Astarion stares at him for a moment, and pulls himself the rest of the way out of the hole, doing his best to keep his dignity. He brushes off his short. ]

Ah, thanks are in order. She was doing her level best to suffocate me.

[ Too hot to touch makes something in his mind stir and he frowns at the spark of pain ]

Should I have questions? Does one not wake up being buried alive all that often?

[searingwing]

[He leaves his hair alone. It doesn’t matter. He leans his head back and rolls a shoulder. There is a pop and he sighs.] Twice is more often than it should be.

We wake up in all sorts of ways. This place seems caught in time. Resetting back to whole at the end of each loop.

[He cracks his knuckles.]

[snackin]

A place out of time. [ He murmurs it, watching this man who seems in rather worse shape than him ] So you are not waking up here for the first time. May I ask how many?

1

[scarletwolf]

It's a waste of your time and energy to yell at her.

[ A voice, cutting through that last shower of dirt. Crucially, there's no hand to go with it, or really any attempt to stop the dirt, just a looming shape behind the gravedigger, blocking the weak spring sunlight. She raises her shovel again.

No dirt comes flying down. Dieter has grabbed the end of the handle in an iron grip, leaving the shovel full and trickling fine trails, hanging in the air.

He looks down, near-impassive. Now's your chance, Astarion. The gravedigger is also frozen, her face a mask of unconcern. ]

[snackin]

[ Astarion knows an opportunity when he sees one, and he climbs up the side of the ditch as quickly and gracefully as he can manage, which is only somewhat gracefully. He pushes himself up to stand straight and true at the edge of the grave, disgusting, staring at the man who just assisted him. ]

Got your attention. So, not a complete waste.

[scarletwolf]

Over-dramatic. Is that what you were trying to do?

[ If so, it was a good plan, and he has to be tentatively impressed— moreso because he actually managed to get out, so at least he wasn't lying around waiting to be saved and yelling about it. Initiative is about all they have.

Well, initiative and headstones with their names inscribed, as well as an unsettling title Dieter's trying not to think about. He has better things to do. Leaving, among them.

Without someone to fling dirt onto, the gravedigger lets the shovel drop. Dieter lets go at precisely the right moment to send it plunging toward the ground. It hits with a satisfying thud and sprays dirt all over her dirty boots.

She doesn't react at all except to pick up the shovel a little more firmly and start to move away. ]

It seems she's new at this.

[ And bad at her job, but that's implied here. He turns back to Astarion (the name on the headstone, so it must be him), dirt-smeared and clearly annoyed, and inclines his head toward the gate. ]

[snackin]

[ The question isn't worth a response, so Astarion instead turns his mind to observing what's around him including that headstone which he would have preferred not to notice. He follows the man's gaze to the gate. ]

A quick exit may be just what this situation warrants.

[ And he moves without waiting, walking like he owns the very ground he walks on. It's a put on, but it is making him feel a bit better, a bit more in control of the situation. Not that he's all too upset to have a tall, handsome man assist him ]

3

[shiftedshape]

[Loki is, at the best of times, skeptical of flattery. This is not the best of times by a long shot, and he runs his hand through his hair-- it is just hair, a bit too short, but it's hair --and sighs.]

You're too kind. [Stated flatly, factually.] But perhaps you'd rather try me another time. Check back when everything doesn't smell like an abandoned fishmarket.

[snackin]

A fishmarket? Excuse you, I smell [ He does sniff himself, just to be sure, and he thinks he smells rather nice ] like that lovely soap I found in my room. Are you certain that your nose is working right? Rather a fine nose, to be so dysfunctional.

[shiftedshape]

[The specificity of this flattery does have some pink rising in Loki's cheeks, but he still looks uncertain.]

I think it's that hideous flower in the courtyard. I'm surprised you can't smell it. Perhaps it's your senses that are failing you. [Pause, then a sniff and a shift in posture to something he hopes looks indifferent.] But not your sight, of course.

[snackin]

[ Astarion's eyes narrow, then his smile widens. He's snared this one, at least to a point ]

Perhaps the flower doesn't agree with you. I find it smells delectable, like the finest bakery one can find. [ He shifts up, a little closer to Loki, his eyes bright and focused on him ] A pity. You seem like a man who would enjoy fine things.

sighing heavily (3)

[necrolord]

[ John has been watching him from across the room, in the way of a man trying to be subtle and not quite managing it. He holds his shoulders carefully still, his hands paused in their fidgeting the moment Astarion stepped through the parlor door. John has been flicking little glances his way, worrying his teeth against the edge of his lip.

Teeth are one of the things he catches on, when Astarion sits down. John skims past the red eyes, snags on the too-sharp canines, and then his gaze hangs briefly at the pale column of Astarion's throat. It's less about the throat, more about the death-still perfection on display. He feels no beating heart. The jugular is quiet. Each movement is clean and uncanny, a flexing of reanimated muscle, the careless tilt of reanimated bone.

He has known only one person like this. He knew her for less than an hour, and she was the most fascinating thing he's ever met. There had kind of been a lot going on; they didn't stop to unpack the hows and whys. Can't fault him for being curious. ]

You're too kind. [ He is openly flattered and not buying it for a second. This does not stop him offering a hand to shake, recklessly interested to see what will happen when they touch. ] I'm John.

[snackin]

[ Eyes watching him like that feel strangely familiar, and he has an odd flash to one of the scant memories in his mind: a dark shady club, stalking unsuspecting prey, snaring them in his trap with a smile and a flirtatious word.

He takes this man's hand--John--with that same flirtatious smile. He uses it to pull John in toward him, taking a sniff with a soft sound like a moan ] A pleasure, John. Such an ordinary name for an extraordinary man.

[ Which he doesn't know, exactly, but he knows that he wants to man John feel good right now, wants to tell him things about himself that he may not have heard, at least not in a long time. And he smells interesting, alive, and Astarion feels the hunger in his gut, not having eaten yet since he arrived here a few days ago. ]

Astarion.

[necrolord]

[ Astarion catches him by the hand, pulls him close, inhales like a predator scenting prey. John thinks: Well! Okay. Cool. Great.

He's not actually sure whether he's being mocked right now.

This is so played-up it has to be a dig, right? Oh, that's John, he's the easiest guy in town. See if you can get him into bed within the first five minutes. Act like you want to tear his throat out, he's into that. It's something about the red of the eyes, the too-sharp teeth; his mind makes the shape of vampire, maybe succubus, but the details run through his fingers like water. All he has is the impression of danger. Sexy danger, specifically.

Astarion's hand is uncannily cool in his, and John is aware of every stilled vein, every too-quiet span of muscle. There's no headache. ]

Cooler name than John. [ His hand has tensed in Astarion's grip, and he carefully relaxes, tries to smooth away the brief fluster. ] But I think it has a certain charm.

[ This is funnier to anyone who knows the fifty increasingly dramatic titles he's had to discard. ]

New in town?

[snackin]

Very charming, pet. [ Astarion purrs it, and lets go of his hand, but stay close ] A delight. John. John.

[ He says the name like he's tasting it in his mouth, and drops onto the settee to sprawl out with a toothy smile ]

Yes, so I'm told. However, what I do and don't remember seems to be a roll of the dice. Perhaps I've been here for months, perhaps only the spare days I recall. Whatever the case, I had the marvelous experience of waking up in my own grave.