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

Francis Crozier | The Terror

[deadandgone]

⚓ NO SHELTER
It has been a long, long time since last Francis sat astride a saddle. But like many things, Francis finds that riding a horse is a skill that returns as quickly as soon as he begins.

The horse is a fine creature, a middle-sized bay borrowed from a farm in town. She takes to Francis quickly, ambles slowly and sure-footed across the cobblestone as easily as the muddy terrain beyond the edge of town. When the clouds begin to gather overhead, Francis turns back, eager to abandon this fruitless hunting trip for a roaring fire he can find at the Inn - or at home. But a few minutes into the return trip, something happens. A shadow dashes unnaturally soundless across their path, as though blown by the wind of a gale. The mare rears, throwing Francis immediately to the ground, and takes off at a gallop, between the trees and out of sight.

Damn it.

Picking himself up with a curse, Francis rights himself, collecting the shotgun he'd had slung over his shoulder, and follows the horse's patch through the woods to head back into town. With the sun beginning to set, Francis holds a steady pace, demeanor coolly collected until the very moment the sound of branches crunching underfoot echoes from behind. Whirling around, Francis aims his shotgun, peering between the trees, and tries to ignore the sound of blood thundering in his ears.

"Who's there?"

⚓ KILL THE BEAST!
There should be little about the town that feels familiar to Francis, but in the moment before the enormous creature charges him, Francis thinks of Sir John. Sir John Franklin, noble, idiotic Sir John, lifeblood smeared upon the ice like a broken bottle of wine. Francis' creature, like Sir John's, will remain a mystery to him: it has come for Francis, seemingly only him, and disappear back into the hell it emerged from before Francis has even considered his own mortality.

But he does not die. He lives, long enough to pull the pistol from his coat, and clutch it to his chest until his breath returns to him. And when it does, Francis rises on shaking legs, hands trembling for the excitement rushing in his veins. He cannot help but consider Sir John's last shout for Erebus and the assistance that would not arrive in time. Would he suffer the same fate?

He's nearly over the stone bridge on Gallowgate when a dull throb in his arm alerts Francis that he's suffered some kind of injury. He pats a new gash in the arm of his coat, surprised somehow to find his fingers stained with blood. Blinking, Francis continues, crossing over the river and toward the building he recognizes as the surgeon's.

⚓ WILDCARD!
[ Come with your own prompt! Chat up this grumpy patron at the inn! Write him a letter! Invite him to the traveling circus! The world is your Victorian horror oyster. ]

[endofvanity]

The surgeon is nowhere to be found, but there's another man who just happens to be walking by the surgeon's door at that moment—a tall, well-dressed fellow, a bit dashing, though rather frayed at the moment. When he sees the other man approach, he stops in his tracks.

"Halloa there. Are you all right?"

[deadandgone]

It's only after recognizing the blood on his hand as his that the pain begins to set in. The throbbing gives way to a burn, but Francis does not inspect the wound himself, keeping his mind on the simple, important task of moving. One foot, then the other, each step closer to the goal, and further from the danger he cannot be sure doesn't follow him still.

The outline of a man's silhouette coming into view spells some kind of safety, and that's well before Francis' mind can catch up to what his eyes and ears are taking in. That voice that pours ice in Francis' veins, and a face he would recognize among a sea of ten thousand sailors.

"James?"

Francis' mouth falls open, pitching forward on unsteady feet to take one of the man's shoulder's in hand, fingers curling into fabric. Whatever excitement has flooded his body doubles now, limbs shaking, head suddenly clear of all notions of danger and instead tumbling with questions. How? Why? He squeezes James' shoulder, unthinkingly staining his coat with blood.

[endofvanity]

James slips back half a step under the force of that greeting, and he stares at the other man's face, uncomprehending.

"Sir, I—" His hand goes up to gently remove the hand from his shoulder, but falters. "I am sorry, sir—do I know you?"

Even as he says it, he feels somehow that the answer is yes, even though he's also certain he's never seen this man before in his life.

[deadandgone]

The hesitation in James' body gives Francis pause, his eyes searching James' face for a sign of recognition that does not come. He stares for another half a moment even as James attempts to remove himself from Francis' grasp, feeling like a stone sinks into the pit of his gut.

James does not recognize him. But Francis knows, with absolute certainty, that this is the very same man he'd sailed and commanded with. The man he'd confided in, who had shared details of his life he'd never divulged to anyone else.

Loosening his grasp, Francis shakes his head, disbelieving. His voice is a soft, needy whine as he answers, heart hammering in his chest.

"Don't you?"

[endofvanity]

James shakes his head, bewildered; he almost hates to say no to the poor man, but he's (almost) certain he's never seen him before in his life.

"I—I'm sorry, but—but you are hurt? May I see? I am no doctor, but the man himself is out and I am no stranger to dressing wounds in the field."