TDM The First

[lethevale_mods]

You probably know how this works, but just in case, here's the idea:

1. You put the name of the character you're testing out in the subject line
2. You write a starter (or several!) in the comment, with the Lethevale AU of your character.
3. People respond with their characters. Threads occur. Friendships are made. The world is put to rights.
4. None of the threads in the Test Drive are game-canon.

Here are some prompts to start you off!

1. Seeking Shelter

You were riding along the mountain road when your horse, terrified by some dark shadow you couldn't see clearly, screamed and bolted, throwing you. Now you're caught in the middle of nowhere, in Lethe Wood, and the rain is getting heavier by the minute.

But what's that? A light? A house? Perhaps if you knock, they'll give you a bed for the night. It'll all look better in the morning...

 

 

2. The Beast! The Terrible Beast!

You took all the precautions. You carried a lantern, kept to the safer streets. Or maybe you didn't. Either way, you were attacked by something as big as a horse, with gleaming white teeth and a hideous howl.

When you run into another person, will you warn them? Will you ask them for a hiding place, or stand and fight? If all else fails, maybe you can use them as live bait...

 

3. Eat, Drink, and Be Merry

Lethevale isn't all monsters and storms. Mostly, but not all. Tonight, there's a party in the Black Swan - dancing, music, and of course, an open bar. Take the chance to get to know your neighbours, why don't you?

4. Pay No Attention To The Passage Behind The Curtain

The two of you were just wandering around Lethe Hall, when you leant on a candlestick, and... what's this? The bookshelf's opened? There's a hole in the wall now, and a spiral staircase leading down into the dark. You know, it's probably best to just leave well enough alone - but you have to admit, it's curious...

COMMS	GENERAL INFO	NEW PLAYERS	CURRENT PLAYERS
main writings ooc mods mod npcs	rules setting premise faq/mod contact gameplay	reserves taken latest tdm application au workshop	contact (locked) hiatus/drop calendar latest hmd lethevale

Comments

[hobbitstho]

Boromir holds out his hand to shake—and then realizes, as it hangs in the air between them, that it’s covered in blood, both his own and the monster’s. That pulls a laugh out of him, because it’s so gruesome it has to be funny. He has the urge to excuse himself and reach for his handkerchief, which is even funnier.

“My name is Boromir Wójcik,” he says, withdrawing his hand with a Well, nothing to be done smile. “I would say it is a pleasure, but I fear it would fall rather flat, given the circumstances.” Adrenaline is giving way to a bone-deep weariness, one he has felt more acutely in recent years. It was a weariness not unlike this, stretched out over months, that ended his tour in the East.

“I can tend to the wound with what I have, at least until it can be seen to by a doctor,” he says. “I am—I was a soldier. I have tended worse with less.” It’s intended to be reassuring, though his face is drawn with pain. (In the light it’s clear they have the same olive skin, and fear and pain color it much the same way.)

“You should not leave this place again tonight,” he adds. “My rooms can fit two easily enough—or I will rent another for you.” These are, by implication, the only available options he sees.

[insufficientjewel]

"Wójcik," Francis repeats, under his breath, and frowns. There is something familiar about the name, something he can't quite place. It doesn't feel significant, precisely, but it nags at him, at the edge of his memory. He feels quite sure that it's a name he has heard before.

But what of it? Boromir is a soldier, but one with the bearing and the accent of the well-bred; probably, Wójcik is the name of some baron or lord, or some patron of the university, even. It feels too easy, in this shifting candlelight, with the horrors of the night so fresh and still giddying, to put significance where none belongs; to sit and stare through a pinhole of the mind at some small fraction of what was said, and take no account of what was meant.

Francis clears his throat, and shakes his head briskly, not in negation but merely to try and bring himself back to the present. "I would not wish to take such generosity, Mr Wójcik," he says, but as he says it, he notes the command in Boromir's tone and, too, the pallor and pain in the other man's face, and he knows that he will stay. Wójcik will not have him leave, and Francis himself is not callous enough to turn away from a man in such a state. Besides, the thought of poison in the creature's bite has not yet left him, and someone, he thinks, ought to make sure a doctor is called if things go wrong. He sighs, and shakes his head again, this time in resignation. "My own lodgings are not far from here," he observes, quietly. "But if it will put you more at ease, then I will stay."

[hobbitstho]

“Good.” He reaches out to rest his hand on Fletcher’s shoulder—and then withdraws it. The gesture felt easy to make, but it is too familiar. It would be an overreach even if his hands were clean.

Well. It’s hard to find one’s way back to the solid ground of courtesy when the acquaintance was born in crisis. Boromir shifts the gesture into an indication that Fletcher should follow, and leads the way to one of the larger suites of rooms in this small place, leaving a request for hot water with the innkeep as they go.

The price of these rooms is, one can assume, higher on account of there being a door that closes between the bed and the rest of the space. The outer room is well-furnished, but otherwise bare; a cloak and hat hang from a peg and a pair of boots wait by the door, but the only other sign that the place is rented is a rosary, finely-made, draped across an end table. It is as though Boromir prepares for a hasty exit every time he leaves the place, or like he never bothered to settle in at all.

“Please, be comfortable,” he says; though while he speaks he falls heavily into one of the chairs, and grits his teeth to pull his arm from his bloodied shirtsleeve. It’s an ugly sight underneath—not showing obvious signs of poison, but still bleeding slowly.

[insufficientjewel]

Francis grimaces at the sight, and starts towards Wójcik without thinking, hand half-raising to offer help - then, thinking better of it, he clears his throat and makes himself pull back and sit in the other chair. He has to admit that sitting is more help to his own condition than he cares to think; he had not really realised how shaky his legs felt, or how light his head, until he took some of the strain from himself.

He runs both hands up over his face, leaving smears of half-dried animal blood as he does so, and takes a deep breath. This is not at all how he imagined his night going, and to tell the truth, all he wants is for it to be over; to be back in his own (far more modest) rented room, clean and without half-listening for another howl, and to spend a good hour or two with his books before bed. Or, actually, just to go to bed. Sitting down has also made him realise how immensely tired he feels.

"Do you have bandages?" he asks aloud, looking around the room as though they might be lying on a tabletop or hanging from a peg. "We ought to have asked for those, as well. Drat."