dagung | ☆ TDM: SEPTEMBER

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* tdm

☆ TDM: SEPTEMBER

Test Drive: September

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 27th.
• Applications Open The 24th! These will last until the end of the month, the 30th, with the intro log going on up October 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 Wilde

For once, the forest that comes to view isn’t flecked with autumnal colors, with leaves that fall without the touch of wind. Each branch blossoms with life, flowers of all shades dotting their surfaces as spring rears its head, and you’re tugged from the edge, through a worn path, and deeper than ever before. The gentle laughter and chatter of living creatures filters in through petals that you brush past, hanging from flowering vines winding downward like delicate curtains.

There’s something new to this though, eyes that see and a growing excitement among the forests’ inhabitants: You’re more known to them than you might guess, it would seem.

Outskirts
The meadow where you find yourself is fresh and green, an explosion of color and the sweet scents of flowers and rain. Wildflowers dot the grass, all beginning to open, in sprays of purple and pink and orange. To one end, the stream flows clear over smooth river rocks into a small pond dotted with vibrant blue fish and turtle-shelled ducks floating without a care in the world. To the other, the forest begins with tall, white-barked trees and saplings in various stages of new growth, pushing out tender green leaves. It's pleasant, but strange, because... There is next to no sign of the Cwyld here in this idyllic patch of the Wilde, no blackened foliage or shadows hiding white-eyed Cwyldtid.

The wildlife seem similarly unaffected, even thriving - watch out for the mama petalwolves with their brilliantly-colored floral coverings. Most of them camouflaging themselves in the thickets of wildflowers are followed by bushy, green-leafed cubs, and they're widely known to be aggressive when threatened.

The most inspiring sight, however, is one not seen in the Wilde of Geardagas for many years, due to the wide spread of the Cwyld. A silvery, equine creature emerges from the treeline, trotting slowly toward the pond on iridescent hooves. A single white horn protrudes from its head, and its mane shimmers pearlescent in the morning sunlight. Following it is a smaller, clumsier unicorn with a gold-tinged coat, happy to be out and about. Unicorns are known to be exceedingly rare - to spot a foal in the Wilde is unheard of. You're all very lucky to see the way the forest is healing.

While some may know that the Coven itself has a unicorn in its stables, this wild one is unused to the hands of humans and may hold her ground in protection of her baby, threatening with her horn and performing small feats of magic to that end -- illusion and physical enhancements are its more core offensives, though it can do healing and shields on the other side. The foal, for the most part, doesn’t seem to have a lick of self-preservation (perhaps it’s been living in safety for too long) and won’t mind bounding up to something, or someone, new and interesting, nickering in asking to play.

The Path Through
Onward and inward, traveler. The healing forest is vast, but a particular route is clearly outlined to lead toward something. As you head past the treeline, more saplings of varying heights and ages shoot forth from the ground between the large-trunked trees that survived. Warm sunlight dapples the ground in an irregular pattern of light and shade, and shines off a series of mirrors, each about the size of a large hardcover book, hanging from the tree trunks to either side to form a path.

No two mirrors are alike. Similar to the mirrors within the Looking-Glass House, each is framed in different decorations and different materials, with different engravings or embossings, but unlike the Looking-Glass House, all the mirrors' decorations are visible to passersby. They're well-cared for out here, polished to a shine and picked clean of leaf-litter and outdoor debris; distant, happy voices reveal that the area is far from abandoned.

Each of these mirrors is placed in honor of a Mirrorbound, and all contain an enchantment that, when the surface of the glass is touched, causes it to display short, silent 'moving pictures' of that Mirrorbound's heroic deeds, in Aefenglom, in Dorchacht, or maybe even from the character's home, whatever they may have done to earn this high regard. Whether the retellings are true to life, or completely dramatized, it's clear that much care was put into remembering their individual stories and personalizing the frames of their mirrors.

The path between the mirrors serves the dual purpose of memorializing, and leading the way deeper into the forest...

Within the Wilde
... Where the sound of creatures grow louder and more plentiful, shaping into actual words as characters step into a clearing, more familiar to those who’d dreamed the first dream than most: There may be no long tables set up with food and drink, but the sight of Fae flitting about and gossiping is certainly something all its own. They, along with Dryads, seem to be plentiful in comparison to the waking world, and once they’ve taken notice of the new faces... immediately begin to ask questions. From whence did they come? Were they filled with new magic power, or had they already begun to change? It’s exciting -- they haven’t had new connections to the world in some time, most of the old Bound having returned beyond their glass some time ago, and while it could mean there was trouble on the horizon they don’t seem too bothered by that fact. “Most” returned, it’s said, because there’s plenty of creatures who claim to have been descended from those who helped to restore the balance of the world, proudly claiming so to any who spend half a minute with them.

While they can be spoken to in a sense, characters won’t get anything too crazy out of them -- they’re willing to speak on present happenings (or what’d be present for characters in game) and how that played out, such as how Dorchacht was far more free than it had been centuries hence in example. Anything more pressing, such as how it may have come about, is unable to be understood despite everything else being able to. They tease new dreamers that those of old were brought here, as far as the stories go, to help cleanse the world and return it to what it once was, and joke that they’d better prepare for the same trouble -- what a laugh, their Wilde as it is now, desecrated once more.

But the Fae in particular are tricksy and prefer pranks to actual conversation, picking on anyone in sight to see how true it was that Mirrorbound -- you, apparently -- had powerful magic and amazing abilities as Monsters: Give it a shot, cast a spell or two, show off your more Monstrous talents, they’ll find it a genuine hoot.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

1 - Outskirts

[ The last Gwenhwyfar can recall to her memory was the hilt of a sword to her face, rendering her to the ground in the midst of a battle, in a village filled with panicking villagers, and one very tall knight coming to her aid. She has been struck several times, already, growing used to being pushed to the ground so hard that it would knock the breath out of her, only to rise. She was born into a world filled with war, invasions, and battles. Peace was few and far in between, especially as Gwenhwyfar found herself often bound and captured by the orders of enemy royalty or nobility. After fleeing several times, she had lost count of the times she had been taken. Her last memories of someone calling out to her, reaching for her aid, falling to the ground and inhaling the scent of blood, iron, and dirt.

What would be the calming scent of flowers and rain, the very smell of springtime in the forests she grew up in, were anything but. With one eye opened, gazing out to the sight of bright greens instead of the auburn light of torches and ground. At first, Gwenhwyfar had chalked it up to perhaps a memory an that she wasn't in her body, at all, only in a vision of her childhood of skipping lessons for a carefree day in the field. But the throbbing underneath her only good eye tells her otherwise. The blood in her turns to that all too painful icy drip, her skin suddenly chilled to her bones, and the tightening of her chest. Slowly, but surely, she slowly raised her head and the sight of a ghostly-looking girl can be seen, adorned in whites and pale greys. She's trembling, a small tear beading up in the corner of her eye. Battered and a little bruised, but overall, still very much alive.

She's panicking and as she does, her body starts to ache. This isn't remotely like the highlands of Eire, the accursed soil she's been stuck on for three years, now. And to her right, the missing figure of the tall knight is gone. He, too, had promised her safety and a way home. Before Gwenhwyfar can double over in absolute rage and fear, she rises, spear gripped in her pale hands as she wills herself to control the tremors in her body.

You're weak. You're PATHETIC. She chokes, determined to get a handle on her body and mind, clamping her eye shut to will herself forward, and quietly ask- ]

Lancelot?

[ It's stupid, she knows, because he is not within her sight nor is his scent. She is alone, again, and much like before, someone failed to protect her, again. Forcing the panic aside, Gwenhwyfar wills herself to take a few steps forward, this time, gripping her spear, white-knuckled as she does. ]

Of course. I should give up on ever returning home- every time, absolute liars.

2 - The Path Through

[ And to the only place Gwenhwyfar can ever find absolute solace -- the forests. Bury it, as Myrddin told her, burying every bit of disappointment, agony, and rage deep within her core to where it would tear her up inside. She was used to this, she should have expected this. Gwenhwyfar had grown used to retreating in the forests on her own and is very prepared to do so. She is almost in her element, spear strapped on her back and giving up on rubbing the bruise underneath her eye. Try as she might, she is far too shaken to notice the world around her or the scents and sounds she would easily would have picked up.

The first priority, she thinks, is to hunker down, find a place to eat and calm her nerves before they escalated. And maybe even find resources she can use in the meantime. All the normal things that she would do when faced with this sort of situation. Even in her state of hypervigilance, she comes to a near stop of mirrors. ]

... Mabon?

[ The god of youth who had called out to her underneath the icy fortress of King Melwas, trapped in his otherworldly prison with no other means to speak other than the reflection of mirrors (an object of the Otherworld, themselves) or the surface of dark water. Maybe it would be a way task for guidance from the Otherworld's spirits. She picks up her pace, glancing through each of the mirrors, looking for any sign of marking that she knows. With every step, her hopes start to dwindle.

And then only to rise again, stopping at a painful sight. Comforting but painful. Just as she crosses it, so too the figure of a a woman moving pass her, standing strong. She knows this face because it is a face that is not too different than her own if she had rosy skin and auburn hair. ]

Mama.

[ It's more to herself than anyone else; a childish epithet that she would dare not utter around a stranger. But nonetheless, her mother, who had soon found her strength for her people and land, standing firm, just as Gwenhwyfar had remembered when she had returned from her tutelage. Yet, despite everything, the sight of her mother so bold and sure of herself is a comforting sight. She is well and safe, despite the fact Gwenhwyfar is sure that she is not. ]

3 - Within the Wilde

[ The patience she has for parties has long since been squashed, most definitely after the last time in which Gwenhwyfar had sat next to her betrothed, the infamous "dragon king" as his rivals and enemies called him when she was meek and shy, unable to raise a weapon. The very party that she had rebuked King Melwas that resulted in her three year ordeal. Even with Melwas slain by her hand, the memory is a painful one and Gwenhwyfar will large amounts of food, hesitant to speak to anyone and fairly cantankerous. She brushes past faes, letting out a slew of Welsh curses. If she's stuck here, Gwenhwyfar will at least claim the opportunity to speak her mother tongue, filled with spite.

Perching herself on a fallen tree, in the forests, a good distance away from people, mulling over magic with a copious amount of food.

At least she has that. ]

Cer i grafu, go bother someone else.

[ She thinks she's talking to a fae. Whoops. ]

Edited (look i keep forgetting things, i am sorry) 2019-09-17 00:34 (UTC)

Byddaf yn trafferthu fel y mynnwn

[ The response came from someone who decidedly was not fae... or at least not kin to these fae, in particular. But there was certainly a fae-like aura about her, the sort that came from lands they both knew, though that particular familiarity was only a feeling, and not yet certain. But she wasn't quite human, either, with hair too thick, patches of fur here and there, and canines that had an affect on her words... ]

But I also only come with peace in my heart, my lady...

[ And here Gwenhwyfar had become fairly used to being a scourage among others, her pale features a mark of her half-blood heritage. It only upsets her that she didn't hear the stranger approached.

But now Gwenhwyfar is really clutching onto her spear, her body tensing up and legs pulled up to her chest as if to protect herself. She was nervous, at first, though, she loathes the appearance of looking weak to others. Wherein she should be thrilled to hear someone else beyond those she knew to speak to her in her mother tongue, it's not reassuring.

Nothing will reassure her, she is so far from home and is ready to burst at the seam from her anger. ]

I'm sure.

[ Isn't that what they all say? She's worn, it shows in her face, as Gwenhwyfar has to really turn to face her, having lost her right eye. And like a feral animal, she shifts, ready to shift away or to jump forward. ]

Have you no one else to disturb?

[ It was an interesting dichotomy. Scathach certainly looked more the beast that Gwenhwyfar felt like, but it was also easy to tell by the look in her eyes that her offer of peace was not some simple gesture of goodwill. She sat herself beside the other woman, leaning a blood red spear against her shoulder and casting her gaze outward to the woods beyond... ]

I suppose it was easier for me to adapt to the dream I arrived in. It was a battle, with an enemy clearly defined, though we had no hope of pushing it back in any meaningful way. But it is a warrior's place...

But this seemingly idylic land of the fae offers no such direction... which is so like them, is it not?

[ Under different circumstances, Gwenhwyfar would appreciate any attempt to soothe her nerves. But, at the moment, where she was still struggling with being plucked from her friends, on her way home, she is anything but receptive. She slinks off her perch, away from the stranger. ]

I would have to wonder what sort of fae you had the misfortune to think such a thing.

[ Underneath the Isle of Glass, below the black waters, the "sluagh" as the people of Eire called them were far from ambling beings. It is something she doesn't like to think about, the restless dead and the equally putrid, damned sluagh to boot.

And maybe this woman, something is making her a little uneasy about her. Though, the same can be said for any random stranger. Gwenhwyfar is still shrinking away, her spear meant more like a shield than its original purpose. ]

What, exactly, do you want from me? Did you want me to pat your hand and offer kind reassurances that they won't take you to their host? Don't sit beside me like I am one of your own.

[ Scathach cocked an eyebrow. This woman was certainly on edge, but even with her intuition guiding her along, she didn't quite expect a reaction like that. But... she was a stubborn one, herself. She felt like she could still do more, here... ]

Do I seem the sort to need your reassurance? I told you true, my lady, that I am a warrior. You'll find no fear within me, for god or man. [ Which if Gwenhwyfar looked at her closely enough, she'd see that was mostly true. No apprehension hung in the air about her, no lingering doubts or anxieties related to these creatures around her or the land she found herself in, even if she was still clearly alien to it. ]

I want nothing from you. I only offer my strength, in this moment, and guidance if you'll have it.

[ Indeed, Gwenhwyfar could look at her closer to note that she wasn't the one that needed reassurance. It was Gwenhwyfar herself that needed it -- that is if she allowed it. She is young but already worn, no different than a geilt the way her expression had shift previously. She eases, only a little, dubious of Scathach and her intentions. ]

Why?

[ She tries to work herself up, to not shrink the way she does, clutching fast to her spear. No matter how afraid she is, she doesn't want to look vulnerable anymore. Her face twists, nearly scoffing. ]

The only strength I can rely on is my own.

I'm not asking you to rely on me, my lady. [ Her own spear remained relaxed, simply rested against her shoulder still. ]

Tis simply an offer, nothing more or less. If you'd prefer I leave you, then so I shall.

[ There is some guilt that accompanies Gwenhwyfar, noting how calm she seemed to be, while Gwenhwyfar stands there, clutching onto her spear.

Secretly trying not to cry.

She hadn't shooed away Scathach yet -- a good sign for her, all things considered. Gwenhwyfar has to turn away to regain her composure. ]

I only want to know what is all of this and why am I needed here.

This is the dream we all share, but it is a reflection of a world apart from your own, or even mine. [ Scathach kept her tone even, taking her gaze to the treeline. ]

For what purpose we are here, none can say with any certainty, but for me, I've already decided. I am a warrior, and heed the warrior's call. And that call beckons me to fight for these people, protect them, from the blight that threatens them... a thing they call the Cwyld.

Gwenhwyfar | Original | i forgot again -- WITCH

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sorry for the delay! it's been a rough week for me and i am so sorry for gwen

no worries!

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1

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the path.

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Outskirts

you know this was coming lol

it was coming all along~

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