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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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Tail, too. He somehow hadn't really noted the tail.]
... gonna make it three?
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[ he won't deign to answer. verbally, anyway. he parts his jaws, a glow emanating from behind his teeth as a flame burns from within his throat. ]
[ well. perhaps it is a chance, after all. ]
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[Soren reaches for his sheath and yanks it off his belt entirely. Lifting it out in front of him, he quite calmly pulls the twisted blade out from it. Oddly enough, the steel glows when he holds it, seemingly to weigh it in his hands.
Hmm, he can't see his reflection in it, the rough shape it's in too twisted.]
I don't want to do that anymore. Count that one more thing I've failed at.
[He tosses both sheath and blade aside, letting them clatter harshly against stone. The glow remains on the sword, casting heavy shadows across both their features. Soren punctuating the gesture by bopping his knuckles after, shaking out both hands, no longer lit with magic]
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You've failed humanity, as well.
[ what was he looking at? a deserter? a traitor? what happened, is the persistent question that occupies his thoughts. ]
[ but he has to weigh whether or not that the answers to those questions even matter: soren's certainly made evident his decision, after all. ]
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He's done with Viren's way of doing things. Of weighing life against life and valuing him that way. His own son, just another knight to sacrifice for humanity. Viren's idea of what humanity ought to be, at least...]
You are a monster. I get it. This dream is pretty blunt, huh?
[Soren, honey, you need things to be blunt..........]
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he briefly recalls that fateful day with harrow, the falling snow making for an almost picquresque scene as they look onto the stony corpse of the dragon king. him pleading with his king, the dire necessity he felt in destroying a dragon's egg. there hadn't been any other way to assure saving so many lives. ]
Sometimes, Soren...
[ "it's horrific, viren," his king had said. ]
Hard decisions... will mean horrifying consequences.
[ hard "decisions," and yet feeling without a choice. he studies his son in the light of his weaponry, someone that's always been - distant, in a way. and now more than ever. his exhaustion compounds his sense of melancholy. did soren really not realize? he had to, knows how highly viren would value sacrifice. and while viren has heard, especially with their growing distance, that perhaps his words wouldn't be listened to, ]
But, even outside the realm of rights and wrongs, we know what must be done.
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[Ordering him to kill the princes was wrong. Accident or otherwise, it was wrong. Ezran deserved his place on the throne. Or Callum, if it had come to that.
King Harrow would have wanted that for them. Viren didn't give them a chance.]
... you didn't make hard decisions. You made selfish ones. And... and you didn't care if me or Claudia got hurt. [Though she still couldn't see that. She just wanted them to stay a family, after all.
It didn't matter that he almost died. That he was hurt so severely he couldn't move or feel. Viren hadn't even asked why or how or what had happened. It just didn't matter.]
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[ comes the immediate snarl, something so visceral one would think soren stomped on his tail. ]
[ his anger resurges, flooding his veins and pushing his thoughts to race. the egotistical part of him wishes he would be recognized for that acclaimed selflessness. perhaps apart of him knows that he's likewise motivated by spiting his beloved, foolish king. perhaps that's selfish. (but how dare he, toss him aside like he's never meant anything? like he hadn't been prepared to, and would have, done anything for him?) hadn't he already sacrificed so much? and where has it gotten him? ]
[ nowhere. ]
[ he's left with nothing, crawling back to a mirror to answer his prayers. ]
You, Claudia... [ the flame in his chest reignites, his mouth aglow with it. those are words that are weighted. soren has struck at a sore point. if the end justified the means, it's true: it didn't matter how they reached their end. ] You don't think it difficult? That for the future, we must be prepared to sacrifice even those that we love?
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No- Don't- don't answer that. [He'll cover his ears if he has too, it would be his turn to not listen.]
I don't, I don't want to know... that. [there's not answer he can be happy with]
I don't want to know.
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he hones in on the fact that it's one of those situations where perhaps he'd be damned no matter what he does - answers, doesn't answer, confirms or denies. he could abide by soren's request. ]
[ viren's tail coils and uncoils. now would be the time for soren to cover his ears, ]
Of course I love you, Soren. You are my eldest child.
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Whatever he hears, however shaken Viren's expression might seem in the dull light of the cave... it's just what he wants to hear, right? Some wish fulfillment he's making up. It doesn't make it true or real. Just something he longs for and won't have, now that his dad is gone. Soren tries not to make it obvious that he's brushing tears away. Of course, it's entirely obvious, the gesture of rubbing his eyes too shaky and hasty to be anything else]
... I'll miss you. [it's half sullen, half sincerity. He misses the father he thought he knew, from before King Harrow died. They both disappeared that same night.]
And Claudia, too... she won't forgive me. [does anything hurt worse than that? He's not sure. At least he got to say goodbye to her, even if it wasn't the last they saw of each other. Soren sucks in a breath, nose somewhat snotty, but ignore that. His stops leaning on the wall, squaring his feet and holding his chest up in a stronger posture. Leveling his voice, Soren speaks as blunt and true as he can. This might be his only chance to say it-]
I'll miss our family, Dad.
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his head ducks again, and almost a whisper, ]
You made your choice.
[ he'll miss it, too. ]
[ so his tone's heavy to match the weight of sadness he feels in his chest. his claws dig into the fabric covering his knees. so many years ago he would never have thought that his family would fracture, and break, so decisively. ]
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[the shift to real anger is a snap of the fingers, that time. Soren clenches his jaw, hands thrown outward before bundling into fists. His tone burns with challenge,]
... Stand up, Viren. [the undercurrent being I dare you- because what is there left to be afraid of, really?
This is a dream.
He wants to punch his dad.]
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[ he doesn't stand. ]
You don't have a choice, but I only choose to do wrong?
[ his tail flicks again, and there's a flash of fangs. not only is it in his gaze, but his heart feels -- hollow. he looks away. ]
Grow up, son.
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[He said it. There. And it's a bit of a relief to tell Viren himself, not just Callum and the others fighting against his father. Soren speaks mostly for himself, because he needs to be his own hype man right now.]
I know who you are!
[It's his turn for fighting words, who ever did he learn this from? He pops his knuckles again, both hands this time]
... and you've never been a coward.
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the words stab with irritation. there's a chuckle, one that's entirely devoid of mirth. he thinks: him? fear his son? alas, he considers this change in soren further maddening - lost, apparently, are the days when he could cow his son into compliance with just a look.
and bitingly, ]
Villainous to those that insist on opposing me, perhaps.
[ his tail uncurls, slithering back to his side. viren, without hurry, rises to his feet to draw himself to his full height. ]
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He'll choose to headbutt Viren instead, square in the nose. Punching would just take too long. Soren's isn't even giving his father a whole second on his feet.
It's not very sporting of him. A fond farewell until they meet again in Aefenglom proper.]