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

[yourvalue]

Lyr gave himself up to it whole-bodied, moaned into the crushing pressure of Symon's mouth, wound their bodies together. Hooked one leg around Symon's, clawed one hand down the other man's back, his prick stirring in the negligile space between them.

Those terrible teeth opened more cuts on his mouth, but he could hardly care. This was the person he loved.

[honoraboveall]

Symon could feel the heat, the want that coiled in Lyr's body, the needy press of his cock, even through the layers of clothes that lay between them. A hunger stirred within him, lust and aggressive, possessive want. His hands gripped at the slimmer body, but he forced himself back for a moment, tongue flickering out, licking away the blood that dripped from his chin.

"You can be mine, here. Truly." He whispered to Lyr. "And I could be yours."

[yourvalue]

Lyr was stunned almost still, almost breathless, his pulse hammering so hard that it rattled his very bones. He stared at Symon as the transformed but familiar figure of his captor, his tormentor, his lover, his... redemption. He'd always known the complex knot of emotion he'd held for the monster before him to be a kind of love: but it had never felt so hotly necessary to indulge, so wild and fast-burning. He could barely breathe, even around the sting of his cut mouth.

"I'll make you mine," he whispered, voice savage. "I'll brand you with gold, with silver, just like those lovely scales."

[honoraboveall]

Symon almost felt drunk with this want, this aching urgency. He had always wanted Lyr, the shape of his frustrated wants, the tantrum of an angry boy, the form of his destruction, his fall from grace.

"Brand me?" He asked his voice a bare whisper. "On top of the scars?" As he spoke, he reached up, gently tugging at the collar of his shirt. Let Lyr see the scar there, ugly, the size of his palm, over his shoulder. He loved it, cherished it almost as much as he adored his own handsomeness.

[yourvalue]

"Yes," he whispered, both hands clawing up Symon's back to grip his shoulders. "Yes, on top of the scars. That bloody little moment in the alley, that wasn't hardly enough, you know it, I know it, I can feel it every time I press down on it while you fuck me. We can make a new beginning, and doesn't a new beginning deserve a new mark? A new chapter a new title?"

[honoraboveall]

Symon's eyes blazed, a bright, unyielding blue, as cruel as the sea. His scales shimmered in the light and his teeth gleamed. He was all sharp angles, glittering and hard like the center of a jewel.

"So then, my darling," He crooned against Lyr's lips, "What new mark will you carve upon me?"

[yourvalue]

"A key, of course," he whispered, and with dual fistfuls of Symon's shirt, dragged the other man somewhere they wouldn't be disturbed.