dagung | TDM: April

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TDM: April

Test Drive: April

All threads can be considered game canon,

the prompts and test drive itself will be

• 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!

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.

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[ The food is probably not poisoned. Dorian thinks not, anyway; a lifetime of attending parties in Tevinter will lead one to be a bit suspicions, though not overly cautious. 'Probably not poisoned' is often the best one can hope for. He eats a little to start with, just to see how he feels, and finds that it is surprisingly good. Not the food itself; the flavor is mediocre, but he simply feels better after eating it. Happier, almost. He feels lighter--physically lighter--and after his third finger sandwich his head is swimming as though he's had a bottle of wine to himself. Which should probably be concerning. At least as concerning as the people he's witnessed shooting off sparks like fireworks over Val Royeaux, or actually floating into the air.

So if the food isn't poisoned, he thinks, then it must be somehow imbued with magical properties? It's a question he ponders aloud. ]

Excuse me, do you know what's in this?

[ Incredulous and a little demanding, with a sweeping gesture toward a tray of petit fours. He is absolutely tipsy, but at least he's still self-aware enough to recognize this. ]

Not the ingredients--I know that it's cake, I mean the spell. It has to be enchanted, yes?

II.

[ Apparently he's managed to run afoul of some irritated Seelie fae; he hadn't even talked that much, but apparently deigning to voice his opinion at all had been overstepping. As it is, not for the first time in his life, he rather regrets opening his mouth.

The worst part is that he hadn't even noticed it immediately. Only when he'd caught sight of his own reflection in an empty silver platter had he been given reason to stop and take a look. His robes were in order--fine brocade fabric and snake-shaped clasps and buckles. But he'd been dismayed, to put it lightly, to find his hair and eyebrows and mustache--all of it--suddenly turned a vivid shade of red. It really isn't his color. He makes his way as surreptitiously as possible to a more sparsely occupied area near a glass surface, whether it be mirror, window, or otherwise, and attempts to correct it himself.

He knows a glamour spell (somehow?) to give the illusion of the natural black color of his hair, and uses it. Unfortunately, however, it simply doesn't seem to stick. No matter how many times he repeats the spell, the color simply fades away to red again. Or the red seeps through? Either way, he can't be rid of the curse, and he's left with the same frustrating end result. ]

Shit. [ Kaffas is what he'd really said, a bitten-off and bitter curse, but universal translation means that Tevene can be understood by one and all. He runs his hands through his hair restlessly, as though finger-combing and restyling it will somehow help. It doesn't. ]

III.

[ Dorian has spent enough time wandering through forests during the last several years of his life that he isn't overly worried when the castle disappears out of sight behind him. While he's a natural in social settings, that doesn't mean he always enjoys them. With a staff in hand, he isn't worried about encountering anything unpleasant that he can't handle. The scent of death lingering in the air isn't exactly ideal, but it also doesn't bother him overmuch. The undead are rather his area of expertise. Or had been at least, he thinks, sadness and anger welling from deep in his gut. It feels like a part of his soul was cut out. He's missing something intrinsic to him.

Eventually his stroll is ruined by an interruption from just the sort of creatures one would expect to find such a forest. These corpses are especially hideous, though, and reek of magic. He dispatches these first few on his own, using magic that he seems strangely accustomed to, yet is very distinctly not the sort of magic he's used all of his life. He finds, at this point, that he'd very much like to get back to the castle after all. Yet it always seems to elude him, and it's some time before he sees another person--another living one, at least. ]

Ah, good. I was beginning to think I was the only one with a compromised sense of direction.

[ More creatures with their huge, dark wings and eerie glowing white eyes emerge as they draw near. Dorian twirls his staff expertly, and without hesitation channels an explosion of fire through it to trigger and burn beneath one of the sentient vines wriggling toward his companion--a similar result to a spell he's used many times before, yet in practice, different enough to be disconcerting. Like suddenly being able to read another language without prior study. ]

Help, if you're capable. [ He employs, brusque and businesslike. ] If not, you'd best get behind me.

Wildcard

Hit me up at jarjayes with any questions. Also feel free to tag in prose if you prefer!

"You know how I feel about being behind you, kadan."

Bull has never been so relieved to see a familiar silhouette in his life. The path felt familiar in its darkness, but the stench of rot and decay just barely hidden by something pervasively floral put him on edge. Finding Dorian puts his mind at ease, even if there seems to be a demonic-looking thing that's taken notice of them.

He slides a heavy maul off his back, looking almost gleeful at the excuse to fight. Something inside him feels-- different, and it's been bothering him since he got here. He's ignoring the scales that seem to have appeared in patches on his shoulders and down his arms.

Edited 2019-04-17 23:20 (UTC)

And likewise, a familiar voice is a comfort. Whatever all of this is, Dorian feels far more capable of understanding and surviving it with the Bull at his back. Nonetheless, he has expectations to uphold; he breathes a long-suffering sigh, even as he doesn't take his eye off the creatures coalescing around them. It's enough to know that the Bull is there.

"You've been waiting all evening for a chance to use that line, I'm sure." He grouses, swinging his staff up into a two-handed grip. "Let's take care of this quickly, shall we? Lest we find ourselves spending the night out here."

Dorian sweeps his staff down in an arc that drags the focus stone at the top lightly along the ground. A sheet of ice manifests in its wake, traveling over the earth to freeze the first advancing corpse from head to toe. It feels wrong. There is no Fade connection, and yet the magic manifests. But he knows what he's doing, apparently, even if he doesn't fully understand it. Bizarre.

Bull waits until Dorian casts his next spell, then charges in. He trusts Dorian not to hit him: they have spent years on battlefields together and not once has he been hit by stray magic. Nothing that Dorian could control, anyway.

With a smooth swing, he smashes a frozen corpse and slams into three others. He uses the momentum of the heavy weapon to move in circles and arcs, forever keeping an eye on the larger, winged thing threatening to advance. It's easy, even a relief, to fall into something familiar. He doesn't have to think about the itchy scales on his skin, he doesn't have to think about the uncomfortable feeling in his jaw or his chest. He can swing his maul and crush corpses. Like he's meant to.

"Are we killing everything or clearing a path to get out?" he calls out at some point.

Bull is, as ever, a destructive force. Their enemies break against him as waves on rock, the strength of his swings easily shattering the more delicate undead. The two of them have spent so long fighting side by side that he knows instinctively how best to support him, and deal damage effectively around him.

A spell for Bull's benefit, first, to protect him from physical blows--not quite the same as a barrier he'd cast back home, but a similar effect. Then he rains lightning down on the corpses around him, precise strikes that either leave them stunned or fry them outright.

"As soon as I can determine which way is out, I'll inform you," Dorian barks back, swinging the bladed end of his staff through a dark, rotting vine creeping from a mess of decaying flora beside him. "Everything seems bent on attacking us, no matter where we turn." He concentrates an explosion of flame on one of the larger winged creatures, gritting his teeth against the high-pitched shriek it emits as it burns. "But the key to any good party is the forest infested with demons, yes?" He spins his staff, brings forth another blast of flame; the thing still isn't dead. "Or have I been attending too many galas in Tevinter?"

Bull realizes that getting too far from Dorian might not be a good idea: getting lured further into the forest means the possibility of being separated. With a grunt he adjusts his direction, and in the process the maul slams into one of the winged creatures flying low. He crushes it into a tree with a sick crunch.

"Don't suppose you could just burn it down," he says with a laugh on the edge of his voice. He doesn't dare look at Dorian too long: the last time he got caught admiring him in battle, he went home with some severe new scars.

"I don't think demons are the thing this season in Orlais, no."

"I suppose not. They were so popular last season, it would be a bit excessive." A little more of his favored morbid humor; demons certainly had been everywhere before the breach was closed permanently. As it is, he pulls a little closer to Bull, finding more creatures rising from beneath the decaying flora, the eerie light from their eyes and the cracks in the skin the only bright points in an otherwise murky darkness. Another lightning spell illuminates the area for a brief moment, striking in a chain through several, but it fades quickly.

"I don't think I can burn it all down, but we ought to pick a direction," he says. "Back the way you came seems most promising."

"Head that way, clear the front and I'll make sure nothing comes at us from the back."

They both had unique abilities when it came to clearing paths, but mostly, Bull wants Dorian to get out of this damn forest ahead of him. It's the kind of thing Dorian will probably chide him for later, but Bull is insistent now. Normally he might ask the mage to lay a fire mine or something and make a run for it, but Dorian's magic seems-- different some how. He can't put a finger on it, not when he's busy cutting down weird corpses and groping vines, but it's not what he's used to feeling whiz by him on battlefields. The movements have changed, the way the spells manifest has changed.

He'll ask when they're safe.

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bestdressed - 2019-04-20 15:49 (UTC) - Expand

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aban_aqun - 2019-04-20 23:55 (UTC) - Expand

Well, no, not exactly, but -

[ The teenager Dorian questioned carefully turns his notebook back a few pages. He's been charting the effects of every food he's tried (or that he has seen tried), because Izuku Midoriya is exactly that brand of nerd. The academic note-taking kind.

At least it's usually useful when he gets all analytic. ]

- from what I've been able to tell, dessert seems to usually have a "spell" that increases feelings of wanting to be here...um, but emotions are sort of subjective, so that might just be me? I'm not sure how to quantify it without polling everyone, but not everyone seems that interested -

You've been taking notes?

[ Rather than condescension, there's interest and genuine amusement in the lilt of Dorian's voice. Far be it from him to discourage a young researcher. He arches a brow, a smile tugging at his lips as he waves his hand in the general direction of the open notebook. ]

Well, you can poll me, if you like. I've not had everything, but I'll confirm what I can.

[ Someone willing to answer questions for academia's sake...! Truly, Izuku's favorite kind of person. Granted, he'll try asking questions even of people who really just want him to shut up and go away because he's a determined nerd (ง •̀_•́)ง but he does try to be somewhat polite, as well. ]

Oh! In that case, what have you tried so far? And what effects have you noticed? And earlier, you asked about a spell - can you sense anything in particular about the food?

[ Dorian's a scholar himself, which perhaps makes him more willing to indulge this line of questioning than most. That, and he's curious. And tipsy. Not that it's obvious; being drunk without seeming drunk is a particular skill of his. ]

Let's see.

[ And here Dorian points to each item in turn as he identifies it. ]

The jam and scones there made me feel a bit...lighter on my feet, I suppose? The panna cotta certainly gave me fonder feelings about being here. And the sandwiches here, as well as the soup here, have, I'm quite certain, a similar effect to alcohol.

Hah - then, that must affect everyone differently, right? Since not everyone reacts the same way to alcohol...a-at least, from what I know.

[ He's never actually had any, being, y'know, sixteen. ]

Symon eyes the man, clearly distressed as he runs through hair and beard that could kindly be described as 'garish'. Given the tasteful rest of his dress, Symon did not think that that color was by design or personal preference.

"At least." Symon murmured, his voice wry, "It's not petals." He raised his arms, tilting his head a little; where had once been scales running along his skin were now flower petals. Before Dorian's eyes, the slim complex yellow petals shifted to something bone-white and simple. To top it off, Symon's fingers were tipped with thorns, instead of claws.

Oh, Maker, he's being addressed. Time to try to play this off as--well, he can't exactly call it intentional. At least he can try to seem less obviously distressed about it.

Rather like this man, who actually seems to be taking his...petals? Quite well.

"Ah," Dorian agrees, "small mercies, I suppose." The petals change as he eyes them, changing color and shape to a different flower altogether. It's strangely beautiful, and the man's hands--truly bizarre. By comparison, spending the next several hours as a redhead seems of little consequence. "Who did you piss off, then?"

"A fae woman. I deigned to try and extricate myself from over ten minutes of cheerful babbling, and evidently that was deemed rude." Symon sighed, (carefully) scratched at the back of his neck. The petals rustles softly against his skin, deepening into a deep, velvety black. "What did you do to offend?"

"At times, inane small talk must be endured for the sake of social grace," he says mildly. Dorian is still watching the transformation of the petals, finding the contrast of the black quite striking. His arms cross idly over his chest as he speaks. "As for myself, I tried to get a word in edgewise. It seems these fae are rather intent on pontificating rather than conversing." Not so much different from back home, really.

"Undoubtedly, but there are limits to my patience." Symon replies back, equally mild. I thought I could escape politely, but clearly, I was incorrect."

He doesn't quite laugh at the other man's reason, but let out an amused breath. "So the source of our shared problems seem to be somewhat similar." His head cocks, and the petals for a moment bloom into true flowers, deep purple irises with vibrant yellow tongues spilling over his arms and throat. "Do you have any idea of how to reverse your condition?"

There's the question of the hour. He heaves a sigh. "I've tried a glamour as a temporary fix, but it doesn't seem to be able to counteract the curse. Fae magic must be--" He makes a vague gesture, "--different, somehow. There's little to be done but wait it out, I think. It's a prank, so it should be temporary."

"You could try and get the fae to reverse if for you." Symon pointed out. "Appease ruffled feathers." He let out a shrug, "The fae who did this to me told me what she liked, ah, specially pretty botanical things, which seemed a rather broad hint. You could do the same with your fae, perhaps, and see what they enjoy."

[Cloud had wandered out into the woods some time ago. Mostly to see what magic he could use. It didn't seem too smart to test things out with a crowd in case some of it was rather volatile. So far he hasn't had much of a chance to test it since swinging his way too large sword was faster at dispatching enemies. At least he was getting a workout.

He stops long enough to give the newcomer something of a smirk before focusing on the new enemy at hand. Good. Someone with magic they can more readily use than himself would be useful. The vines are a little weird... but he can live with it. He's fought stranger things, like bipedal carrots.]

I'm better in the front.

[ Bipedal carrots, sentient vines, giant spiders...it's all the same after a point, isn't it? ]

By all means, then.

[ Dorian is used to letting a warrior take point while he provides magical support, even if he isn't so used to this particular sort of magic. He seems to be able to use it well enough, at any rate. ]

I'm going to be casting around you, so do be careful while you're swinging that over-sized meat cleaver about, yes?

[ Because really, who needs a sword that's nearly as tall as themselves? ]

[Agreed. The world's seem to have a strange sense of humor when it comes to enemies. At least there's no explosive penguins here.

Over-sized meat cleaver? Cloud snorts at that. He can't deny this is what it looks like.]

If I get hit, that's my own damn fault.

[At least Cloud can swing this taller than him sword with relative easy as he attacks the closest vine to him. It gets cut easily enough but keeps wriggling. That's not what he's used to back home...]

I share the sentiment.

[the comment is delivered with a thick veneer of sarcasm. It comes from the tall stranger playing the wallflower. His clothes in red and black ruin the attempt, though, as well as bright carrot hair that clash with white eyebrows.]

[Archer is definitely not amused, and it shows in the edge of his smirk.]

Have you ever heard of the fair folk, or fae?

[Newt had been idly kind of pushing some of the food on his plate around with a fork. Make it look like he was participating in the food and merriment and what have you, but really not actually doing so. Instead, he was watching around him to see how people were reacting to the food.

He glances at the other and frowns a bit at the tone, but dismisses it for the time being.]

The magic the fae use here is different from what I'm accustomed to. Either it's a certain enchantment or the ingredients used within their recipes cause adverse effects. Like a potion. I have a good idea as to what effects what gives, but I really couldn't tell you what causes it, really. Or why for that matter.

You're right though. There are certain effects from the food when consumed.

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TDM: April

dorian pavus | dragon age | witch

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