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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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likewise, he edges deeper into the cave; less for the intent of trailing after soren (though, that's also a worthwhile purpose, for now), more avoiding the immediate ire of the dragon.
his voice at a now matching volume, but compensating in intensity, ]
You need to explain yourself.
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Urg-! Just- Stay right there.
[He's not going to shove at the dark again, instead reaching for his sword. It's not to attack his father with, though perhaps the sound is an alarming one in the dark. He swings it into the spot he's trying to slink into, cutting away more plants and sparking some as he hit rocks he couldn't see. He mutters in annoyance to pull away what he can, finding more space in the crevasse. Maybe they can get in further instead of needing to wait out the monster.]
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but nothing lands, and he instead hears the noise of him hacking away at brush. he's uncertain of how effective clanging away at rocks will be (noisy, too), if he should wait for the sword to fail (because, of course it would). he forces a low exhale to steady himself, his stomach curdling unpleasantly. ]
Soren...
[ his tone changes course. he doesn't yet move forward to join, wary of being smacked by a sword in the dark, but, ]
Here. Allow me to help.
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It feels less like a dream and more like having an argument in his head. Not real. This isn't real-]
How many times do have I have to say something before you listen to me?
[it doesn't even sound like he's talking to Viren, he's more talking to himself.
Stabbing his sword into a particularly good spot and he pulls free a large amount of overgrowth. Soren slides the blade, now somewhat dented and dulled, into the sheath with effort. Hands reach down and feel the cave opening up.
Somewhere to go, please, he's not being too cautious. He'll slip on through the hole he'd made, into a space more open than before.
Not that he can or will stop Viren from following, it's at least some distance]
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that's probably answered by the noise of him making his way through the undergrowth as well, making his way through brambles, pushing away at stray rocks. his toughened palms, and the claws, are put to good use. ]
[ there's a deep sigh. while his patience is wearing thin, he tries again: ]
Please.
[ sorry, son. daddy-o is persistent. ]
I hear you, I do. But I want to understand. Why are you behaving like this—?
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Why is this so difficult? It's just... a dream. He can't even make out his father's face in the darkness, even with his eyes adjusted somewhat, the most that is there is a vague shape.
Only his voice is really clear, to Soren. Unmistakable. His own anger falls away, just.. lost for what to say.]
I don't... I don't know where to start.
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[ because while he can't make out soren's expression, would study it if he could, his voice strikes him as much more vulnerable. for the moment, he's exposed something -- very raw. ]
... I don't know, either.
[ comes the honest reply, mindful of raising his voice again. viren's settled against a wall, focused on the silhouette of his son. ]
Try. Where it makes sense to you.
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He stays still, straightens up. What does he want to say to Viren, after everything that happened? What is there to say?]
... You're wrong. I know you don't think that. But. What- What you've done is all wrong. And I can't listen to you, not anymore.
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nevermind anything said before; what's said now is akin to a slap to the face. shock passes over his features. here viren had thought there were on track to progress, and while soren's words confirm that something had gone terribly wrong, it's still nonsense - ]
[ it had been a short-lived attempt at being peaceable. now a low, inhuman growl emanates from him. he feels a flame rising in his chest, snaps his teeth shut to force it down. his tail lashes to the floor, scattering crumbled rocks. but that doesn't stop the words that tear from him, ]
You haven't any idea about what you speak of, how the world works -
[ his thoughts change course, because perhaps that how he should treat soren, as such. as a silly, wide-eyed child. maybe he would be better off just laughing this off. instead: ]
I don't know what's gotten into your head, but you, [ syllables dripping with disdain, ] are being nothing more than a petulant, stubborn child.
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[it almost spills out, you are a villain, but he can't make himself say it. It sticks in his throat when talking to his father. Why, he couldn't say.
Too much of him still yearned for his father's respect, even if he didn't recognize it.]
A, and I won't be like you. I won't do the wrong things because you've convinced me they are right. You hear me?
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[ viren feels his heart begin to pound again, his eyes and pupils grown wide. his hands have clenched to fists, and he takes a step forward, if to better yell at his son. his tail curls around one of those rocks, constricts until it cracks to pieces.
his frustration is barely tempered, if at all, by his complete befuddlement; he needed to find out what happened, explain this behavior, ]
[ but soren... soren... ]
As you are, you are weak-willed, soft — [ he almost stutters on what he's saying, the nastiness borne purely of ire and festering pride, his voice having risen to that extent: ] You couldn't be like me!
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[Soren puts both hands to his own face and slaps both sides to try and just. Wake himself up. He's done with this! Get him out of this dream!]
Why am I arguing with you!? You're gone! You're gone and, and dead, and I- I could have- [done it himself, if it wasn't for Claudia's illusion. He wishes he didn't know that, that he was capable of something like that. Even if it was to protect Ezran, there's no way Claudia could forgive him, despite it being the right thing.
Because the right thing is not always the easy thing.]
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what was to come of it?
the wind's left his sails as quick as it'd come. because soren doesn't engage further, and he feels his fury leaving him with nothing but a heaving chest.
—and a renewed sense of turmoil, and near disorientation, as he belatedly begins to parse the conflicted, stuttering words that leave soren's mouth. again, he has to doubt as to whether he heard correctly. he has to ask, even if it's gotten neither of them anywhere, ]
I, Soren...? [ somewhat strained, now, ] What...?
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[Throwing his hands outward in frustration, only for one to just. Light up. As Claudia's hand might in this situation.
Soren looks to it before seeing anything of Viren. He yelps loud enough to echo through the cave, shaking his hand out like it might be on fire.
The light doesn't let up, but it sure does make a wild show of being waggles around frantically]
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[ he cuts himself off, gawking at the light that spills from soren's hand.
it doesn't give him time to reflect on being told of any alleged death, because he knows that spell. knows very well that dark magic isn't possible here (and did not think it to be so, even in their strange dream realm), and yet here soren was,
making imperfect use of magic. but still use. he's stunned, watching the light dance about, reflect off the cave's walls. ah. ]
You [ his son, of all people ] are to be a Witch here, then..?
[ it's one of the moments that have plagued this conversation, where he's speaking to himself more than anyone. ]
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Especially not when he sees his father. He's recognizable, sure, but Soren still staggers backward out of surprise]
Whoa- What!? What happened to you-? I'm not... I don't know how I'm doing this..!
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[ he lifts a clawed hand up, shielding slitted pupils from the light's assault. ]
Get that - out of my face.
[ a low hiss leaves from between his fangs, exhaling exhaustion. ]
You're a Witch. It means that you may now use your own magic.
[ and, so much more. he swallows thickly against his rising jealousy, something in the back of his mind certain of an impending spiral. ]
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Breath, right?
His hands shake before he closes his palm, the light dimming to something more reasonable, less a beam and something more ambient in the space.
Okay. That's. Something. Some kind of control. He'll take what he can get about now.
His vision snaps back up to Viren. He'd thought that shape was a crown, but it's... horns. Dragon horns? And scales across his face, his ears... pointed.]
... what about you? What are you?
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his knees give, and he slides down the wall to settle at its base. his tail curls reflexively about his boots. ]
There are two sorts of people, here. I am a "Monster," a Dragon. And you, a Witch.
[ repeated. his hand raises again, this time to pinch at the space between his eyes. he feels a migraine impending, too. this is all ... too much. soren could take this opportunity to bolt, and he doesn't think he'd follow. ]
Once we are free of this dream, you will learn all about it, Soren.
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[and him! A Witch!
He's baffled for just a while, looking at his father slump and then, just...]
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He needs to just... double over a moment, hands on his knees! He wheezes, before straightening up soon after to laugh upward. A finger needs to wipe tears from his eyes.]
That's-! Okay, okay, this dream got funny... phew! That's a good one...
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I can't tell,
[ he begins, tired irritation prickling at his tone, ]
whether you're just feeling frivolous enough to think it funny, or sincerely think this isn't real.
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It's a dream! I'm talking to some sorta... dragon-ghost-dad! I have maaaagic! [finger wobbles, making a little light show]
Of course this isn't real.
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You will wake up from this dream, [ spoken delicately, although with a hint of rancor, ] and eventually, you will have to live with that magic. And you will find me, very much alive, and as you see me.
[ his tail flicks. with another hissing of words: ]
But whether you believe me or not doesn't matter.
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[Soren rubs his face, some wetness there from laughing, that's all. He's not about to get all weep ridden. If anything, he feels dulled out. It's habit, maybe, to mirror his father's mood, to try and emulate him.
Not this time. He keeps his posture held up strong.]
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