TDM: April

[moustre]

Test Drive: April

Welcome to aefenglom's test drive! All threads can be considered game canon, should you choose to do so; regardless of if you pick specific threads to remain canon to the game, the prompts and test drive itself will be. This will be touched on later in-game, so it's fairly important to note! Aside from that, here are some quick reminders:



• Reserves Open Today! If you're interested in securing a spot, put one in! We accept applications without reserves too, of course. Reserves will expire three days before the end of the application period, on the 28th.
• Applications Open The 24th! These will last until the end of the month, the 30th, with the game formally beginning on May 1st. The application page can be found here.
• If you have any questions about the game or the world, please refer to the FAQ page; if you still have questions, feel free to ask them! For questions specific to the test drive, please ask them on the appropriate thread.
• For the purposes of the test drive, your character will have access to all magics taught by the Coven if they're a Witch, and as much of their shifted form as you'd like if they're a Monster. Feel free to play around and experiment with each!
• Test drive threads can be used as samples for your applications!



With that taken care of...

You feel like you're floating. Around you, colors and sounds and smells swirl as if trapped in a whirlpool, vibrancy and hue ever shifting. The more you watch them, the less solid they are; they only become clear out of the corner of your eye. The area around you begins to feel more solid as well, until your feet are on the ground, the wind brushes playfully against your face -

and you know one thing, and one thing alone: this is a dream, and an incredibly realistic one at that.

The Tea Party

The air turns a sweeter smell, almost like a bakery; the gentle laughter and chatter of living creatures filters in through leaves that brush against you, hanging from winding vines that hang from above. Flowers in shades of orange and red glow faintly among the greenery, their petals curling in shyly once they're paid attention to. As the area comes more into focus, the shadows of insect-winged forms become clearer, flitting about - talking about some kind of party, about a Queen, about the Courts meeting on neutral ground for the first time in a thousand years.

You're not entirely sure what's going on, and it doesn't seem as if anyone's noticed you've arrived - but three different paths unfurl in your mind's eye, vague in shape and meaning.

A Taste of Faeryland... Following the voices, you find them: smaller-than-average humanoids with thin limbs, a variety of wings (prismatic butterfly, fuzzy moth, delicate bee - all of it), large, glittering compound eyes, antennas fitting their winged insect-type... Those familiar with the tales of the fae might recognize these Monsters as something similar. They greet you as if you were an old friend regardless of your appearance, inviting you to sit down at the table - which seems to go on forever in the large dining hall-esque canopy of nature they have set up, lined with elegant porcelain tableware and shimmering orbs of magic. The food is similarly endless, ranging from the familiar to the unusual, and careful observation (or just plain digging in) shows the following effects: breakfast foods make you glow and emit colorful sparks, brunch foods get you floating as if filled with bubbles, lunch foods will make you feel as if you've taken part in happy hour, dinner foods will make you insatiably hungry, and dessert will make you feel as if you should simply stay in Faeryland forever... It's possible to mix and match these with effects, but do be careful. The creatures present speak in high, lilting voices about nothing in particular at all - if asked anything serious, they merely give the character a curious if disproving look and say it's impolite to speak of politics over a meal. Ask something a little more lighthearted though, and they laugh and still... don't quite answer, patting your hand and asking if you'd like an extra slice of buttered bread and jam. The tables aren't exactly the best place for eavesdropping and learning what's going on, it seems - but there are plenty of exits out of the dining hall. Large, beetle-like Fae stand guard at the entrances of various hallways outside of the hall in the castle though, preventing anyone from entering them. When asked, they simply reply these are to private quarters that ordinary guests aren't allowed into and refuse to budge on the matter.

A Coalition of Interests... The Seelie and the Unseelie Courts of the Fae - whether you know them or not, evidently it's a big deal that they're meeting tonight. Or over several days and nights; the Fae themselves seem to be in a bit of an argument over how long they actually want to stay in the same company as their counterparts, neutral ground of the Dewaint Forest. Regardless, there are no marked differences between the two physically, and they all speak of a singular Queen heading them; behaviorally, though, that's another thing entirely. Those of the Seelie Court are quicker to engage in conversation and prefer it one-on-one, hardly allowing a word in edgewise and getting irritated when interrupted; their pranks are usually mildly malicious, with spells causing uncontrollable laughter, color changes, and charms to make the charmee fall in love at first sight with whomever they see first peppering their repertoire. Returning to their good graces is fairly easy - the gift of something pretty as an apology tends to work, but each Fae has their own very particular gift they like. If it's messed up even a little bit, they won't accept it, and will merely play another trick upon the giftee. Those of the Unseelie Court, meanwhile, are a little harder to talk to; they prefer to prank and trick first to test those they might be interested in as a group, not unlike children trying to get the attention of someone they like by pulling their hair. Their pranks usually range from genuine hurt (such as pulling hair, stinging nettles, or simply beating them with bound vines) to curses (losing one's voice, the head of an ass, or full-scale animal transformations). Withstanding these, or standing up to these Fae, earns as much of their ire as it does their respect - the truly respectful human will be subjected to headpats and collars, like a pet.

A Treacherous Adventure... As beautiful as it is outside of the main dining hall and newly-grown castle (just for the momentous occasion itself, going by the rumors!), Faeryland as a whole is mired in danger. The wrong step sends one tumbling down a rabbit hole full of interesting sights, landing in a wide field of drooping flowers that snore softly and scream bloodcurdling loud when awoken. No matter how long one walks, discovering both familiar and unfamiliar sights, never ends in finding the castle again. In fact, it's much easier to find yourself accidentally going deeper into the woods. The exceptionally tall trees of the Dewaint Forest show hints of decay and rot, the smell of the dead barely covered by the flowers desperately growing across the blackened bodies of Fae and other animals that wandered too close to the growing infection in the area. What look like corpses will tremble and rise when they sense someone is close by - their eyes and mouth are pure white, contrasting with the darkness around them, and throughout the shell are cracks of a similarly pulsing whiteness; it smells magical, it feels incredibly heavy and overpowering, and it might just be too powerful for those most sensitive to the corruption and to magic. The shadowy creatures' wings are larger than normal and monstrous, with their bodies held up by the dew-crying flowers that simultaneously hold them back yet sneak their roots closer to grab those who awakened them and drag them closer. Where the monster begins and ends with the corrupted nature it's made its bed in isn't completely clear, but one thing is: it's very, very hungry. Thankfully, it's a good thing some of you have new abilities at hand, and some of you have a few neat changes to help. Teaming up makes things go quicker, and once defeated, these creatures bleed white magic and disappear in ashy smoke, shell breaking off in bits to reveal a dried-up corpse of a Fae. Nothing else remains, not even a hint to their identity, and the more of these monstrously-turned Monsters characters meet, the bigger and more terrifying they get.

Comments

Lyr Tuttle | Pathfinder OC

[yourvalue]

A Taste of Faeryland...
"Oh, I couldn't possibly!"

Said the priest, eyes alight with goodnatured laughter, as he did indeed accept a lovely little bit of cake. It was so beautiful! Icing formed into lovely little dots, pressed with cut fruit. And the ceramic plate! What art, what craftsmanship! He smiled and inspected the little painted flowers on the plate with a small smile. Carefully lifted it over his head so that he could look for a maker's mark, while not tipping over the delicacy.

"What's your name, dear stranger? You really should take a look at their place-settings, how perfectly princely! Oh, and look at the silver! Here, here, see the end of this fork? How it's graven like a cockle-shell, and the handle fades into waves? Reminds me of when I used to dine with my mother, all those years ago. Maybe that's why I'm dreaming all this..."


A Coalition of Interests - A - Love at First Sight
Lyr might have been a priest, but he had long been accustomed to rubbing elbows with nobility and grand merchants! Surely in his own dream he should have had an easy time impressing, being an attentive listener, laughing at all the right moments...

Of course, interrupting a Seelie conversation to let the other party know they'd dipped their sleeve into their wine on accident had gotten him turned away to the noise of the strangest riddle. He muttered it now, bashfully, wondering if it had anything to do with the local political scene.

"What the eye beholds, the heart desires... I thought we were meant to be talking about the local royalty, not trading... little children's rhymes and tawdry riddles! This is my dream, aren't I meant to know what it means?"


A Coalition of Interests - B - Collar and Chain
This had been quite a lovely dream, but after being turned into a cat by an imp and then reverted and collared and led around on a leash, the priest of Abadar is beginning to wonder whether it might be close to a nightmare.

He stood, leather leash knotted around the glinting metal of a lantern post, collar high on his tanned throat, and wove his fingers together in an anxious dance whenever someone passed.

"Oh! Oh, pardon me, could you spare a moment? I'd untie myself, you see, but I don't want to cause any more upset to um... my master? Our hosts? I'm dreadfully confused. But, you see... could you be a darling and bring me back some wine from the dining hall? There's a coin in it for you, and a token of my gratitude!"


A Treacherous Adventure...
He'd won himself free from the Seelie and Unseelie guests, and made haste through the screaming flowers... only to pull up dreadful short when he saw that they seemed to be growing up through bodies.

Definitely a nightmare, then.

His mouth pursed tightly, and he went to his knees beside one of those foul-smelling dead. Winkled two coins out of a pocket and rolled them between his fingers, leaning to place them over the eyes.

"Abadar keep you, poor soul. What madmen wouldn't bury you? Did you commit some degeneracy, some crime? Well. Rest easy, fair dead. I don't really give a fig if you were a blackguard or not, I'll see you lain to rest properly. Oh... hold on, is that... are you moving... dead people shouldn't be moving..."

He laughed, high and panicky, and started to scoot backward.

"H-help! Guards? Watchmen?!"

hey boo

[honoraboveall]

"Should I be flattered then?" Comes a warm voice, dangerously close to a purr. Familiar and rich, a voice that Lyr would know well. "Since this means I'm the stuff of your dreams." Lyr would know the face too, features strong and handsome, eyes a hard, brilliant blue.

But there were differences now, subtle and not so subtle changes. Bright blue scales shimmer up along twin lines up the strong line of his throat, curving at the underside of his jaw. He's in shirtsleeves, and the cloth is rolled up to the elbow, revealing, another scattering of scales, like sapphires over his skin, fingers connected by a fine membrane, tipped in slim claws, matching hooks at his wrists.

When he smiles, his mouth has too many teeth.

"Or is this my dream?"

[yourvalue]

Lyr stared, far overlong, while one tan hand fluttered up toward his throat.

"Symon..."

It left him in a shaken whisper, and the glass he held clattered from his nerveless fingers. Shattered on the floor into shards which wheeled and glinted as they spun away. The priest ignored them.

"What's... what's happened to you? Why do you look like something terrible from the river...?"

[honoraboveall]

"I don't know." Symon replied to Lyr, honest. He reached up, touching a scale with the tip of a claw. "But it feels, well. It feels right somehow? As if this had always been here."

He paused, and realized he didn't have a mirror, hadn't really gotten a good glimpse of himself beyond the reflections of glasses and gilt plates.

"...Do you still think I'm handsome?"

His voice was almost hesitant.

[yourvalue]

"Oh, Symon..."

He swept forward, dashed sleeves fluttering, his smile soft and sunny, his hands gentle as they lifted to his old enemy's face.

"You look devastating. The sort of vision mad sailors sing about, that haunts them forever... awake and asleep..." His eyes followed the path of his fingertips, up the other man's cheeks. "And... and you're right, it does feel very you..."

He rolled his lower lip between his teeth, and pressed their bodies closer than was strictly polite.

"Would it... hurt? To kiss you...? Because... you know I don't mind that..."

[honoraboveall]

That incipient hesitation melted away, and along with it the rare look of vulnerability. Symon's smile returned full force, teeth gleaming in his mouth. He could smell Lyr's familiar scent, and his breath shivered out in appreciation.

"Of course my darling." His head turned, stealing a whiff of scent from Lyr's hair, "You know I'll be gentle." The words were breathed out, curling against the younger man's ear.

adventure

[churchbelle]

Nightmare or not, this... garden from hell is a migraine and a half. Foul smells, foul sounds, going around and around in circles— Hazel's patience has worn very thin very quickly, being stuck out here. It's why he moves toward the sound of someone talking to themselves, ironically enough - at least that's better than listening to more flowers scream at him endlessly.

So here he comes, a whole host of new magical abilities made available to him, yet still choosing to stride purposefully forward and put his foot down on the head of the cursed corpse as it struggles to stand. He's tiny, but he can keep it in place well enough.

"Spoken like a man who hasn't met many of the dearly departed," he says, startling when a root coils around his wrist before he does the only logical thing and stomps on the monster's head as hard as he possibly can. Something crunches, so maybe—

"This ain't the time for scripture, so if you wouldn't mind not starin' for so long...?" He crunched it, please help!!

[yourvalue]

Lyr stared at the caved-in head, didn't dare look up at the face of his rescuer, and lifted his tanned hands.

"O-oh! I... Y-yes, of course! I had this knack..."

He plucked up one of the coins that had fallen to the ground, and flung it like a dock boy skipping stones. It went white-hot and molten in midair, burned through the attacking plant and the one behind it, already rousing to a furor.

He wasn't looking to check, though, and hopped to his feet, snatched up his rescuers hand, and made to race back toward the (dubious) safety of the castle.

[churchbelle]

Alright, first point— cool trick. Would have been more helpful in the first place, Hazel thinks, but he's not about to look a gift horse in the mouth and say so. Out loud.

"Where the hell—?" This precision aim? Is this not the same young man looking skittish and fleeing the scene? No matter— he's grabbed and they're off, dashing away and rousing more screaming flowers in the process. It's a cacophony that builds on their heels, the creak and snap of more roots being moved by woken corpses, Hazel says "damn" a bunch of times—

And then they're suddenly at the edge of the field, facing some trees that, at least, do not scream. Hazel can't see the castle through them from here, but god, give him a minute. They're free of corpses, for now.

"Alright, I'm awardin' points for speed, but grace is something you gotta work on." Hmm. "...That all said, thanks for the hand."

[yourvalue]

The race to safety was, to an outsider, likely on the level with any good situational comedy. Two priests running like hell and all its hounds was at their heels, flowers shrieking bloody murder in their wake.

Lyr ran as if it was for his life, and only began to slow when his unlikely companion began to do the same.

"Grace," he puffed, doubling over at the waist, hands above his knees, gasping for breath. His hair had a million flyaways, his neat clothes all askew, sweat staining his fine white collar. "I'll... I'll have you know... that I'm... exceptionally graceful... when I'm not being... attacked by... horrid undead."

[churchbelle]

Forgive him his skepticism, especially right this second. He's waiting for the grace, but instead he seems to be witnessing more of the same. It's fine; without the imminent threat of terrible moving corpses, it's kind of endearing— but people tend to take offense when he points that out, so.

So! Good gracious.

"I'll believe it when I see it, sir," he says, and pats his companion on the shoulder. Do more running. "Your last rites had a kind of grace to 'em, I suppose." Not at all, but 'don't give a fig' is Hazel's kind of professionalism, so there's that.

cookies & cakes.

[killuwatt]

"A cock-a-what?"

Mouth already stuffed full, the young man sitting beside him pauses with his arm half outstretched toward yet another platter of tiny cakes -- colorful petit-fours sprinkled with what looks like glitter and delicate ganache flowers and leaves -- only to turn and stare at this weirdo going on and on about the silverware, so far as Killua can tell.

"No clue."

He swallows, at the same time as he grabs two of the cakes. Pauses, to think... then grabs a third and tosses it over to his companion with a little smirk that just barely shows the tip of a sharp canine peeking past his lips.

"Why do you care so much about forks?"

[yourvalue]

"Oh! Darling," he laughed, and smiled, scooping a bit of soft, fluffy condiment into a small saucer to pass the youth beside him.

"Try it with this lovely whipped cream on it, there's a bit of lemon or orange in as well, it's to die for. And.. let me be clear: I don't give a fig about the forks! It's the craftsmanship of them, the equisite effort some soul put into making them. You see, I'm an investor. It's my talent to find people who are the best in their profession while they're still young and trying to be known, and helping the world to recognize their talent."

[killuwatt]

"Uh-huh."

Killua blinked at him as he chewed, but he took the saucer and swiped his finger through the whipped cream to pop some into his mouth (even though the spoon was right there). With a small, appreciative noise of contentment, Killua licked his finger clean and nudged the little plate back to reach for some chocolate sauce beside it instead. This, he took his own small spoon to rather than his finger, thankfully, and drizzled a sizeable amount over a pile of strawberries already in front of him.

One claw extended, sliding from his fingertip effortlessly, knife-sharp and slightly curved. He speared a berry on it, swiped it through the chocolate, and popped it into his mouth.

"What kind of professions?" he asked, only mildly interested. He'd never even considered the craftsmanship of forks before in his entire life. What a strange person. And what a strangely mundane addition to a dream about eating all the sweets he could possibly desire, which was rather a good dream, in fact. He didn't often dream.

"So you're like an agent? Help someone build their brand and take a cut?"

[yourvalue]

Lyr watched Killua's enjoyment with a touch of admiring envy. He always watched his figure at parties. If he was ever going to eat overmuch, he made sure to do it, politely, in private.

So he speared a strawberry on his fork and ate it without compliment, humming as he nodded.

"All professions, of course. And... I'm a bit like an agent, yes. Only I don't take a cut. A craftsman will pay me only what he wishes. Sometimes nothing, sometimes a little, sometimes a lot. I'm a priest to a god of wealth, and it's my calling to grow the wealth of others. To grow their value, even apart from wealth itself."

[killuwatt]

"So what do you get out of it if not money? Sounds like you're not even talking about material wealth, necessarily."

Killua didn't really believe in gods. Gods of wealth or being poor or whatever weren't a concept he was familiar with or something that made sense to him as a calling, much less a sustainable way of life. Maybe he was trying to see too much logic into a dream, but it was such a weird tidbit, when the rest of it seemed so straightforward in its silliness.

"What constitutes value anyway? When you say any profession... anything valuable in anyone's eyes? That's so stupid. But, like, boring stupid, not-- y'know, growing cat ears and eating a mountain of chocolate cake sort of stupid." He gestured emphatically at his own stupid cat-ears, white and fluffy like his hair, and grinned. It felt a little bit like getting a wacky economics lesson in the middle of a dessert-filled funhouse.

"I'm an assassin, you know." Sort of. For the purposes of this conversation, he could say that, just to see what Mr. Personal Brand Manager over here would do to 'grow his value' or whatever. Most people didn't find that a profession worth boosting, after all.

coalition - b

[mysticized]

The young man looks almost fully changed himself already, but his teeth are blunt and his fingers unwebbed. A monster from another world brought to witness the unseemly dealings of the Unseelie Court.

Davaas isn't quite sure what he's to do here, but he mostly keeps to himself. He witnesses so many oddities ( he's fairly certain the man he just passed had a human head minutes ago ) that he's keen not to draw the eyes of the locals to himself. He makes himself smaller than he already is, yet one voice finds him at the edge of the crowd.

The man speaking is tethered by the collar around his throat and it's yet another oddity that has Davaas worrying at his lip and tilting his head.

"Wouldn't you rather I let you free?" He asks. It's an obvious thought, yet he voices it all the same. "There's so many people here... What if they forgot you here?" Oh that thought causes a pang of anxiety.

[yourvalue]

"Oh, you absolute darling," he murmured, with a soft laugh, dark eyes glitteringly glad. His eyes didn't linger over the youth's transformations or his anxious state, instead trying to reassure him.

"It's terribly sweet for you to worry so much about a stranger. What's your name? Have you been enjoying the festivities, outside of, ah," he smiled and gestured to his collar, "Concerning yourself with the fortunes of others? Trust me, dear, I won't be forgotten or left behind."

b

[horkbajir]

It's possible the priest was addressing someone else, but a tall reptilian alien trying to escape this scene pauses to look at him and his predicament. Collars and leashes aren't needed by her peoples' slavers. Cages are, and this seems easier to slip.

Her voice is low and gravelly. "Then let them be upset. Do you need this master?"

[yourvalue]

"Need? Oh, my sweet darling," he laughed, as clearly unperturbed to be addressing a reptilian being as anything else that had happened to him. He'd grown up in a strange city, with giant spiders in the sewers and blood-drinking imps flying in squabbling gangs overhead. This lovely little dream was tame by comparison.

"No, no. I don't really need anyone, of course, I'm quite equipped to be alone. But, ah, you see, it's a matter of faith. I'm a man of the cloth, a priest, and one devoted in word and in deed to all the things which create the spirit of civilization. That does include a certain adherence to decorum, social niceties and so forth. It would be a small kind of sin, you see, to wittingly cause offense when no one was in danger or had dire needs to be met. And our hosts did prepare quite a repast and reception for so many hungry people, so I feel additionally obliged to be a polite guest."

[horkbajir]

Cocking her head, Toby considers this for a moment.

"So your social strictures are what's keeping you bound, and the tether is just a visual metaphor on top of it. I'm sure you can understand that any obligation can be abused in a situation like this. Freedom and dignity don't have to just be exchanged without even a discussion."

[yourvalue]

"Oh, you absolute darling," he laughed, and splayed a hand over his chest.

"You're genuinely worried about me! A total stranger! Abadar bless you. What on earth have I done to warrant the concern of such a beautiful dear? Now, now," He laughed, waved a hand. "Don't you fret, at all! I'm quite capable of escaping my bondage with the delicate application of certain kinds of social leverage. I'm not afraid, and my freedom isn't in any kind of real danger. As for dignity, well... that's all a matter of perspective, isn't it?"

[horkbajir]

Toby has to admit to herself, it's strange talking to someone more eloquent than she is. Outside of storytelling her people speak simply and plainly, and her human allies are, by human standards, still juveniles and largely informal. She reads and listens, she's expanded her vocabulary, but it's not the same as trading speech with real people. This is something she'll have to adjust to.

She exhales audibly through her nostrils. "That would be condescension, I suppose. Forgive me for my grave error, I should have realized that your position doesn't leave you in distress."

That's what the humans call sarcasm and it may not be the wisest course, but she's not going to dip her head to every passing stranger, either.

adventure.

[lonewanderer]

Well, if Lyr wanted the dead laid to rest, Lex could help with that. The panicked laughter and shout for guards sends her and her dog darting through the trees, and Lex finds that she's keeping up with Dogmeat far better than she could before. She also finds that she's snarling when she pulls her shotgun and unloads it into the creature that is starting to crawl up and over to the man who had been- performing funeral rites on it, she thinks.

"Move," she snarls again, and she's half-surprised to find that she actually made a word out of it. Dogmeat, ever the helpful mutt, pads over to tug on Lyr's shirt.

A Treacherous Adventure

[halfbloodhatchling]

It didn't take much thinking for Kai to decide what to do. He was more of a 'shoot first, ask questions later' kind of person, and this was definitely the kind of situation that needed some bullets in it.

Kai could be the one to do that.

"Get behind me." H had his Glock out and aimed at the creature's temple before he finished speaking and he shot it twice, three times, until it stopped moving.