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TDM: January
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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.With that taken care of...
• Applications Open The 24th! These will last until the end of the month, the 31st, with the intro log going up on February 1st. The application page can be found here. As a reminder, this will be our last uncapped application round!
• 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 Prehistoric Wilde
Thick summer heat hangs heavy over the uninfected landscape like a damp blanket, smothering. The jungle around you is thick and wet, full of the sounds of chittering animals and the high-pitched drone of insects. The flora and fauna are like nothing you've ever seen before, large and alien in colors and shapes, though they bear no signs of the Cwyld. Flowers the size of a man's head and brightly colored in rainbow hues curl their tendrils invitingly, and giant mosquitoes buzz through the air seeking a meal. You can barely see the glow of the twin moons through the thick canopy above. There are no signs of civilization - at least, not the civilization most will be used to; only the distant sound of the river, compelling you to follow its winding path. But will you go forward, or will you go back?
 Rumble in the Jungle Making headway through the jungle at night is a chore. The foliage grows thick and the humid heat is oppressive for even those who enjoy the warmth. There are no clear paths here, no easy way through. The canopy of the ancient trees far, far over your head is just as dense, but the faintest moonlight filters through the holes left by the huge leaves in stippling patterns across the musty forest floor. 'Large' seems to be the theme - lining whatever path you pick your way through, there are pitcher plants massive enough to swallow a grown man, with small animals and giant insects being digested down inside the sticky liquid that fills them. The flowers are as big as a man's head, and come in a rainbow of colors, their venomous tendrils curling toward signs of life. The trunks of some of the trees are as thick as houses, and shade the ground beneath them with leaves like umbrellas. The hand-sized mosquitoes thrive in the sticky heat and if not killed first, can make off with a full pint of blood from an unsuspecting person. At some point in your journey, the ground begins to rumble beneath your feet. The farther you go, the longer you walk, the more signs of life become visible: thick, winding trails of crushed foliage, huge, animalistic footprints in the mud. Luckily, to this world, you are small and insignificant, and may escape the notice of the local Monsters - the massive, prehistoric ancestors of today's Monsters. They seem like giants, colossal Titanoboa Nagas with hollow fangs like swords, towering Fauns with the lower halves of mammoths, sabertooth Turnskins, pterodactyl Harpies with leathery wings. Even the parts of them that resemble humans (and they have far fewer human-like parts than their modern counterparts) are larger than any actual human being. They operate primarily on instinct, made even stronger by the full moons above, and perceive the strange new creatures as threats - or food. Sticking to the river seems safest - at least until you run into megalodon Merrow, singing an alien, but alluring, song to draw in prey, or the apex predator of this prehistoric world - Dragons, bigger and scalier than the ones Mirrorbound may know, stopped to drink at the river. All other Monsters flee from the huge reptiles, lest they become food themselves. Luckily you can defend yourself with your new abilities, or your neat changes - you're small, but not totally helpless. Interesting to note... while all other Monster types are represented, there are no Fae or Chimeras in the Wilde here, and the Vampires are more like huge bat-monsters that traverse the jungle on all fours than humanoid bloodsuckers. |
 The Natives Going backward, away from the distant sounds of the sea and against the current of the river, leads you through dense jungle. How long have you traversed the landscape? Hours? Days? Time passes funny in dreams. Eventually the trees thin out, grow taller and less leafy, and the air becomes drier. Instead of loamy soil beneath your feet, you start to feel rocky, harder earth, and spot outcroppings of stone. The sun begins to rise, which makes it easier to spot people on the horizon, a little settlement coming to life in the morning, nestled where the river forks into two. They're much hardier than the familiar people of Aefenglom, sunburned and dressed in natural, rough fabrics. Their homes, if one can call them that, are shoddy little structures made of sticks and leaves and mud, pressed up against the sturdiness of the stone formations. And, when they spot strangers approaching their village, they scramble for their weapons - crude clubs, stone axes, even just large rocks snatched up off the ground. The translation magic works on them, thankfully. Their speech is halted and simple, but they get their point across. Tell them who you are, or they'll beat your brains in. Monsters might get their brains beat in anyway if they aren't careful, even though they're much smaller than the Monsters these humans are used to. And Witches? May the gods help you if you use magic in front of these terrified, unevolved people, lest they mistake you for a Fae (the word is whispered with fear and revulsion in their voices) and swarm you with simple iron tools. If you're an actual Fae, an obvious Fae? They'll whisk their children into their huts protectively and then run you right out of the village. Violently. The truly observant, or those who can see through illusions, among you may notice something strange, though. Some Fae actually seem to live among them, heavily cloaked in natural illusions, with the primitive humans none the wiser. There are just a few, but all of them look young, twelve or thirteen at the oldest, and they are all scared of their secret coming to light. Fae who get caught tend to be burned at the stake around here. |
 The Invaders Perhaps you chose to go forward, with the current and toward the distant sound of ocean waves, where the river pours into the sea. More long-time residents of Aefenglom may notice that the shoreline is familiarly-shaped, but wider, bigger, not yet worn down by thousands of years of erosion. There is no bustling Harbor, only the waves crashing on the rocks, small islands dotting the water near the shore. There is no Bright Wall - there is no city, even, only an expanse of beach transitioning gently into an idyllic grove dotted with gauzy, pointed tents, and a beautiful, gilded ship half sunk into the sandy earth. It seems safer than the jungle, at first - until you notice all the Fae. They're more insectoid than the ones many are familiar with, with big, glittering eyes and either bright, jewel-toned wings like dragonflies or butterflies, or delicate, leafy wings in greens and browns. They're also taller than modern, lesser Fae, though not by much, and they're thin and angular, standing on spindly limbs that barely seem able to hold them. Characters receive a warmer welcome here, by the band of true Fae that have made their camp in the grove, though the alien-looking beings have a tendency to treat them like toys, children, or both, cooing over their sizes and their magic. "Look at the little Monsters! Aren't they cute!" "We should make some of our own! And oh, the little humans have magic! Delightful!" It's hard to have a conversation with one - they're condescending at best, and at worst, flit off to another entertainment out of boredom while you're mid-sentence. And entertainments abound in their camp. They're served and tended to like emperors by collared humans - adults and young adults do the heavy labor, including pulling grand little chariots for transportation, though there are some highly-supervised human children running about fetching drinks and fanning their Fae masters with palm leaves. Farther out, a large, deep pit has been dug out of the earth, ringed by a waist-high barrier of logs, a few Fae gathering at the barrier and leaning over, talking in conversational, happy voices. Down below, Chimera gladiators fight for their amusement, while the Fae keep up running commentary, discussing each warrior's chances, new breeding prospects, interesting crossbreeds their fellows have come up with ("She's trying an Arachne and a Turnskin together, how delightful!"). Trying to disrupt the proceedings will only result in the Fae turning their magic on you - illusions and curses, nasty little tricks. Sit down, silly little ones! The fight is just getting good! Or maybe... Maybe they'll toss you into the pit to see what your chances are in battle. |
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Speaking of, he scoops up one of the ants as he retreats from the vines. It's adorable, in that horrifying bug kind of way.]
If you're the welcoming committee, this place is even worse of a shithole than Wallachia.
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I agree with you but how the hell do you know about Wallachia?
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[Look, just because most of the people there are uneducated peasants doesn't mean that knowing about Wallachia is particularly shocking.
For his part, Hector is distracted by the ant. For his part, he doesn't know about other worlds yet.]
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[ Just going to put that out there and... stare at the creepy giant ant he seems to be deciding to keep as a pet or something. Yeah. ]
It's where I'm from. Haven't been there in... about four months now. I've been stuck here.
[ AND WHAT A TIME HE'S HAD. ]
So you're from Wallachia. That makes you the third.
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It's not where I'm from, it's just the last place I lived before...wherever this is. I moved there for my work.
[It sounds so mundane when he says it like that.]
Would you want to go back? This place is a step up, from what I've seen so far.
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Ok. But you're aware of it, even if you weren't born there. Like you're the only one who wasn- nevermind.
[ Don't lose track here. ]
And yes, because this place is shit with turning people into monsters and witches and whatever other bullshit I've yet to see.
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What are you talking about?
[Look who hasn't noticed the little nubs of horns that are growing on his own head. Hector is blissfully unaware.]
People don't just 'turn' into witches. They have to be born with in inate power, and study to cultivate it.
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Hector didn't go to Necromancy School for 8 years for you to not acknowledge his witchy degree.]no subject
[ Their world?? Sure. Difficult to explain or wrap your head around, he gets it. But he is SO not the person for explaining this shit. Where's Alucard when you need him? ]
Here, you get chosen as a witch or a monster and no, you don't get to pick. It's decided for you. Don't ask me how because I don't fucking know.
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[No, this strange place and its fascinating biological specimens are making him incautious. He needs to remember discretion. Forget he said anything.]
So which one are you?
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I'm the one keeping your ass from getting eaten by overgrown weeds.
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[Well, seems like he's not getting an answer out of this guy.]
I would've been fine. And if I gain more powers here, so much the better...
[Yeah, so far, none of the stuff this man is selling about this place is a deal breaker for Hector.]
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You had powers back in Wallachia or something?
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What does it matter to you? I'm just the one almost getting eaten by weeds.
[He should stop there. Really, really he should.
But he loves his work more than anything, and he's got more pride than sense.]
I'm a forgemaster.
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[ Well there's a term he sure as hell hasn't heard around here since arriving and as such, Trevor regards him a little more warily. ]
You wouldn't happen to have been in the market for raising dead monsters for a certain crazed vampire's army, would you?
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They aren't dead monsters. That's necromancy.
[Once again, technicalities, but he can't stop himself. He does take a step back, putting a little space between himself and the man with a knife.]
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[ Because it sure sounds like it?? Or something close enough to it. ]
Dracula's not here if you're wondering.
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I would say you can’t guarantee that, but with how depressed he’s become, I doubt he’d make the effort to leave his castle.
[And it’s sad, seeing as great a mind as Dracula’s reduced to that. He goes quieter.]
It’s better that he’s not here.
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[ Yeah, Trevor sure did just come out and say it. ]
We killed him.
[ And at that, he sheathes his dagger and moves on ahead. Sorry, Hector. The only one he's a little mindful about Dracula around is Alucard. ]
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Who are you?
[He lets the struggling ant crawl out of his arms and away. Suddenly, the wonders of the forest are a lot less important.]
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Trevor Belmont.
[ House of Belmont and all that jazz. Heard of the Belmonts, Hector? ]
Now you gonna stand out here with your flesh-eating plants or whatever or you going to start moving so I can make sure you don't die?
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[Hector says it flatly. Of course. The bogeyman of the night creatures. The clan of witch-burners and vampire killers.
A hysterical chuckle croaks from his throat, unbidden. A fucking Belmont. A Belmont who is trying to save his life. If only he knew.]
You might as well leave me here, Belmont. I don't know why you're playing at hero, but my life certainly isn't one you give a fuck about.
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Would have left by now if I thought that, don't you think?
[ He's not against walking away from anyone, fyi. ]
But I'm guessing you know the name if that's your reaction to it.
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I'm a forgemaster. I know what 'Belmont' means, and I'm honestly not sure why you're still here.
[He's assuming Trevor would have no qualms about killing him if they were both at Dracula's castle. What is good alignment even?]
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[ To which he begins to walk ahead. ]
You've got fucking horns on you head.
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He claws at his pockets frantically, desperate to find something he can use to generate a spark. His shaking hands turn up a silver drachma and a metal button. He strikes them together.]
No. No, no, no.
[His eyes go wide, stunned. Fearful. For the first time since his childhood, he is helpless. Not a forgemaster anymore...which leaves him with nothing.
His knees don't feel like they can hold him anymore, so he sinks to the ground. Good job, Trevor. You broke the necromancer.]
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