dagung | ☆ TDM: SEPTEMBER

Entry tags:

* 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

[Alucard has taken away one thing here that is an absolute and utter certainty: he does not like the fae. He does not like their behavior, he does not like how they react to attention or to being ignored, and he would as soon swat at them if he thought it was going to make a damn ounce of difference.

Fae were never stories in Wallachia, so he just.

Keeps walking. Eyes set ahead, praying for the damn things to finally get bored.

It strikes him then that something about himself is wrong in a way that he isn't sure how to articulate. Not yet. Alucard pauses in mid step, eyes suddenly much brighter and wilder.]

[ Geralt's not trying to hide, but he's kept his distance - and witchers are quiet, preternaturally so. He watches the unknown man walk and tries to get a sense of what he is, though he knows it's pointless. Everything smells off, in these complicated dreams. His nose is full of flush foliage and flowers he doesn't recognize.

The man freezes, and Geralt thinks he's been noticed.

... Noticed somehow. If not because he's been spotted.

Ah, shit. Something's up with this, and he doesn't like it. He's considering just bailing and waiting out the dream on the outskirts somewhere, or trying to find Lambert and grill him about what's been happening in Aefenglom while he's been away, but then he feels a very physical presence at his side. Almost startled, he looks over-- ]

Oh, he is very interesting! Pretty and horrible at once! [ A dryad, and a loud one. She drapes her arms over his shoulders and Geralt takes a step back, trying not to stumble. ]

Thanks?

[ 'And horrible.' Jeez ok. ]

[The dryad's voice breaks Alucard from his own sudden panic. He was about to do something logical - attempt to float, as all vampires can - and while it would have been a worthwhile experiment, it also would have sent him tumbling into a panic that no one needed to witness.

And there would have been a witness. Who is not terribly far away, and that dryad is definitely being a dick right now. Actually, that sounds like something Trevor would say, which nearly gets Alucard to laugh.

That doesn't come to pass. The dhampir walks over towards Geralt, but his eyes are on the dryad.]

Uncalled for commentary, I think.

[A very polite and overbearing way to ask someone to leave.]

Oh! You're much prettier!

[ The dryad performs a gravity-defying graceful move from one man to the next, practically floating against the long-haired man's chest, held up by leaves and vines, as though she's being held in his arms. Even if he's not cooperating with said arms.

Geralt brushes some dried petals off himself. ]

I'll stick with horrible, if that's alright.

[ Maybe he could have gotten away with 'pretty' eighty years ago, before the scarring and weathering really set in. He gives this guy a wary look, both curious and apprehensive. You know, as he's smothered by an enthusiastic tree lady. ]

[Alucard just stands there, his arms folded over his chest and his mouth now set in a very deep frown.]

As I said, uncalled for commentary.

[It's rude to side step such a gesture. Alucard knows that, and he does it anyway because the word uncomfortable is a very, very gross understatement for how he feels at the moment. To Geralt, he gives a brief nod of his head, hoping that approaching a man closer to horrible will get the dryad to leave them both be.]

Careful. She'll think it a duo and we'll have real trouble on our hands.

[ Geralt can tell he's uncomfortable. But wouldn't he be able to assume that, anyway? Or would he ignore it, because he generally doesn't give a shit about the finer nuances of emotions in others? He looks at the other man with a critical expression. Does he feel skepticism radiating from Geralt? It this some odd effect of the state of the dream? Simple proximity?

Oh, right, stuff's also happening that isn't Geralt leering at him like a lunatic. ]

Won't you tell me where you've come from? [ She implores, moss-green eyes wide and beseeching. They don't remind him at all of the dryads he knows, the warrior women of Brokilon, who would have shot both of them through the throat with arrows for setting foot in their forest. ]

No. We're no fun. And we've got to be on our way.

[ At the very least, he has to scoot his would-be companion on, to get the buzzing discomfort out of his head. She pouts but withdraws, a flutter of red ladybugs trailing after her. ]

[In truth, the dryad's everything has mostly eclipsed Geralt's leering from Alucard's view. He's aware of it, in theory, but he's done absolutely nothing to address it because to say that there's more pressing matters would be literal and very, deeply unfunny.

If Alucard was not so unnerved by his sudden lack of say, ability to float like normal, he might be politer. Those are some very sad eyes from the dryad, and he's still half human.

But this strange and grizzled man is offering an out, and Alucard knows to take it. As does the dryad, who does finally leave.

Oh.

The man is still leering.

All the same.]

Thank you. I think insisting on there being no fun is what truly convinced her.

[ It's the secondary kind of leer. The 'unpleasant way' leer, even though beneath all of Geralt's inhuman calm and work-minded orderly thinking is a thin layer of 'perpetually horny'. (Which would be its own kind of unpleasant.) ]

Free spirits, [ he says with a shrug, and motions towards one of the winding trails out from here. They should get a move on, before more critters decide to come see if they'll play.

At least it's ... pretty. In the trees he can see flashes of pastel colors, mobile flowers, the strange and surreally beautiful petalwolves roaming around looking for gods-know-what. Rabbits made of sunlight, maybe. ]

I don't recognize you from the city.

[Alucard is keen to keep walking, and based on this man's reaction to the past few minutes, he suspects he'll be followed. Movement might keep the dryads and fae at bay, or at least make it harder to bother them both.

So he keeps at a brisk pace, unsure of where he is going or who he is with, but certain that it's better than standing around as a beacon to be bothered.]

I've never lived in a city in all my life. That may be why.

[A city. It's a statement that belies a lot of centralization.]

You might, now.

[ He's been told that not everyone who appears in these dreams, lucid and displaced, shows up through a mirror in Aefenglom after - but there's a strong correlation. ]

This is a shared dream of a world that's on the edge of total collapse because of an infection. Whatever power that constructs these dreams seems to be showing us a pleasant future, opposed to the usual visions of doom.

[ If he sounds a little dry, surprise, he is. ]

Might.

[And then Geralt explains the rest. Alucard closes his eyes for a moment when the man finishes, and lets out a sigh through his nose. They've only just dealt with Dracula. Now...now this.]

Wonderful. [He's so tired. It comes through in his tone.] The infection's nature is what, precisely?

[ It's an understandable reaction. Distantly, he wonders what this man has been through to make him seem so bone-tired, but it's not his business. (Even though the game mechanic tethering them unbeknownst to either, says: Yes it is.) Exhaustion is a state of being for Geralt, though he buries it beneath his professional calm. The last time he had a break, he was actually dead. ]

The call it the Cwyld. It kills living things, people, animals, plants. Corrupts them somehow and makes their only purpose spreading the infection. Fire does a good job stopping it, but burning the whole planet poses an obvious problem.

[ A world has to be alive after, or else you haven't actually saved anything.

The petalwolf in the distance leaps over something, spraying pink and purple flowers, calling in canine chirps to her cubs. ]

I see.

[It's a deeply understated reaction for what Geralt has shared. What he's described feels like something Dracula might do if he was not a man for absolute overdramatics. A long, creeping death and visible path of destruction. Making the world itself spread it's death.

Lovely. Wonderful. Fan-fucking-tastic.]

And so this is the path to drawing those in to hopefully mitigate the problem.

[His head snaps up at the distant petalwolf's movements. The flowers are a riot of colors, but it's the noise she makes that puts something like a smile on the dhampir's face. Wolf language doesn't change, it seems.]

Got no idea why people from other worlds are drawn in. We're certainly not treated like incoming heroes. More like a bureaucratic immigration headache.

[ Geralt doesn't seem mad about it, though. The leaders in Aefenglom itself appear to be trying in good faith, and as someone who has been a part of a force that forcibly abducted people from one dimension to another for nefarious purposes, he can say with some authority that nothing about the way they're being treated stinks of malicious conspiracy. If there is some awful secret being covered up, they're doing a solid job.

Things could be a lot worse. Things could be like they are in the neighboring city of Dorchacht, where Geralt's sleeping body resides, hidden away in a Resistance safe house.

Instead of going into the expanding horrors of local politics, he watches the petalwolf. He detects a flush of enjoyment from the other man--

Strange. He withdraws, trying to shutter his own mind. It probably feels like a cold door being quickly shut. ]

That's...

[Quite a few words that while Alucard understands in the abstract, well. He's still a medieval Wallachian recluse who was raised by a vampire and a doctor and thus not as familiar with civics in practice. He mentally settles on that's a lot, and it continues until there's a weird shudder at the back of his brain, threatening to move down his spine.

It's a new sensation, one Alucard's never felt before, and he doesn't like it. He doesn't like it so much that he stops moving, a frown deep set on his face.]

What was that?

[ Geralt would love to be a medieval recluse. Instead he's a medieval wanderer, who's seen too many border conflicts and attempts at ethnic cleansing. Wouldn't it be nice to just stay at home. More than that, wouldn't it be nice to just never give a fuck. (Yeah, right.) ]

.. I'm not sure.

[ Splitting hairs, clearly. He doesn't sound like he doesn't know what the other man is talking about. No 'what do you mean, what was what'. There's resignation there. He doesn't want to acknowledge it because then it'll be something actually fucking happening, in a dream of all places--

A leafy green wolf cub rolls out of the undergrowth and into their path. Curious but nervous, it scrambles to its feet and looks at him, pacing, torn between running back to mom or getting closer. It's a sight to behold, strange and sweet. When the mother petalwolf comes rushing out, Geralt raises one hand. A shield blooms around them, barely visible and shimmering, gently barring her from attacking them.

More for the wolf's protection than theirs.

It's the most graceful bit of magic he's ever done in this place. It felt too easy - unbelievably so. Like he can just dip his fingers into it and do anything. He's never felt that way before even in a dream. ]

[Alucard is stiff. The sensation has passed, but hell if it doesn't disturb him down to the bone. Geralt's response is about to get questioned, because the wording is what it is, but then--

wolf.

It is Alucard's own instinct to want to shift into his fluffier form. Both for the cub's sake and the sake of it's mother who will doubtlessly have opinions on the little run away. Alucard takes a step forward, but his change in form does not come.]

That's...

[He doesn't like this one bit, and a flash of real worry crosses his face. It's gone by the time the cub's mother comes out, and all is well. Er, not well, but addressed in a way that solves the problem, and Alucard's eyes go to Geralt again.]

A magician, then.

[That's fine. Puts him at ease, in truth.]

Only here. I could do a few small utility spells, at home. This world pulls us in and then gives people access to its magic, be it like this or by turning them into 'monsters'. Their terminology.

[ The M Word is such a disaster, in his opinion. Whoever's running PR for this world should have picked something else. Changers, the reformed, animagi, anything. Instead there's this yoke of negativity from the get-go, because language and words carry a dense weight.

Also it makes it real fuckin hard to tell people 'I hunt monsters' without them losing their shit. ]

I never seem to have this kind of aptitude when I'm awake, either.

[Alucard heard those air quotes. That speaks to someone who knows the term does more harm than good, but also makes it clear that there are people around with deep fears about those who fall under such a heading. He doesn't like it at all.]

Skill with magic is just a matter of practice and intent, at least according to a...a friend. [The word, as applied to Sypha, feels like a trite understatement in many ways.]

And any other strange sensations one might be feeling at the moment?

[ A friend, huh. Somewhat knowingly, Geralt says - ] I've got a friend, too. A sorceress. She says magic is a science and an art a matter of will, all at once. The hardest thing in the known world to master.

[ Alucard's friend is probably a lot nicer than Geralt's friend, who once nearly killed him for using that very word.

And, ah, that question. Geralt continues to watch the trees. ]

I'm feeling several. I haven't yet encountered it in the waking world.

Are you sure we don't have the same friend?

[The talk of will is uncannily akin to Sypha's explanation of how magic works. All talk of intent and forcing it into the world even as it struggles and tries to resist. In time, Sypha might have more thoughts on the science end of things but...

...that's not a train of thought to explore around others.]

One that starts in the back of the head and then feels ice cold?

Mm. Probably. Unless you're from the Continent and have heard of the Lodge of Sorceresses.

[ Of which his friend is not a member, but it's a fine yardstick with which to measure recognition. Maybe. He could start using something older, considering his lifespan, and that of most mages.

The wolves have moved on, and perhaps they should, too. Take in more sights of this peaceful forest, so lush and alive when the world of Geardagas is anything but. Geralt lets conversation lapse for a while, and it's obviously deliberate. While it's easy to interpret it as him stonewalling the other man, the truth is more mundane; he doesn't know what to say about any of it. ]

They talk a lot about 'bonds', [ is what he says eventually. ]

Then it is two different people with similar brains.

[Alucard's glad that the wolves have retreated to safety, although he probably could have stared at them for hours yet. They were wonderfully unique creatures, and he would have happily spent a day or more observing them if he could.

But this place has more important things to focus on than just wolves, and so he follows in silence. The lapse doesn't feel natural or comfortable, but Alucard understands that. Some things are a struggle to talk about.]

Bonds. Or what sort?

[ Geralt has a wolf medallion on, silver with red eyes, hanging on his chest. It's dead, here, unable to sense magic that runs too deep for his witcher senses - just decoration. Not as cool as a real wolf, though, or especially these floral ones. (Maybe he just looks like a hippie with a howling wolf shirt. Maybe it's ~*a sign*~) (No it's just lame)

There's a glint in the distance, something in the dark tress. Glass? ]

... The native magic is volatile, and requires things to balance it. The suggested treatment is to link people together. I've never experienced it.

[ Because he'd rather explode and die. The discomfort is probably tangible, even though his expression remains neutral. ]

[~~Do 3 wolf moon shirts exist here~~

Alucard's eyes do catch the medallion, but it's only after a little bit of sun bounces off of it. He hums softly, but makes no attempt to ask after it. Not right now. The way Geralt speaks makes it clear that they are treading on what could politely be termed difficult emotional terrain.]

I see. [Linking, bonds, it follows. He's never heard of magic being that volatile, and if it was...

...he thinks of circuits and how the lights in the castle work. A completed circuit of sorts, although Alucard doesn't dare to go further than that. Discomfort is coming off of Geralt like waves, and Alucard gives him space out of instinct.]

Is there a given reason for such a hard to control nature, or is it simply there and all must deal with it?

☆ TDM: SEPTEMBER

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)