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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. |
no subject
It is either focus on him or focus on the dead chimera, massive, its eyes blank and unseeing, in a pool of its own cooling blood, and so she focuses on whatever he's looking off toward instead.]
I was startled. By ah, one of the monsters... [She's not going to say it was a mosquito.
Her brow furrows, and she says, all of a sudden:] You're... Sephiroth. Aren't you? You have to be.
no subject
(Frustrating, in not knowing.)
But Aerith's recognition causes Sephiroth to discard that line of thinking and turn his look in her direction again. Mosquitoes hum as ambient noise.]
I am.
[Recogition happens so frequently (though in less unusual circumstances) that its novelty disappeared years ago. But given the circumstances, curiosity piques over its usual threshold.]
Are you from Midgar?
[Or, maybe, in this case— Gaia, even. But no point in casting the net so wide just yet.]
no subject
And there is something calmer about him, something she would attribute to the nature of this dream, but she did not dream any longer. She was a traveler, no longer a part of the land of the living — there was no need to dream when you could integrate yourself seamlessly into the dreams of others.]
I was.
[She answers, after a pause.] A long time ago. I don't know why a dream would conjure you up, but I suppose that's the nature of dreams, isn't it?
no subject
But his words, as ever, reveal nothing.]
You make it sound like I was formed out of nothing. [“Conjured up”. He’d prefer to root himself in far more stable verbiage. Yet as always, his reputation precedes him; maybe makes him seem like a person more suited to a dream than reality. Is that her meaning?] I’m just as real as you.
[He pushes his gaze forward again, and takes a step or two down the direction of the river, offering—]
Are you coming along?
[Because it is an offer, never mind how unapproachable his everything seems to be. They can walk and talk.]
no subject
The offer surprises her, and she supposes it should fill her with unease — which it does — but there is something else too, she's beginning to recognize. He had not attacked her; he did not speak of his mother in the lofty tones of a madman. His eyes are cold, and distant, they have the telltale unearthly mako glow, but they are clear.]
I'm coming along.
[The curiosity wins over, as it often did with her, and she keeps a few paces behind, her hands laced behind her back.
For a little while, she is uncharacteristically quiet, though she supposes he wouldn't know that. Then she ventures, carefully:] Were you in Midgar, before you ended up here?
no subject
She’s quiet, but so is Sephiroth. Silence doesn’t bother him. He often prefers it, and he won’t go wringing out small talk from a stranger if they don’t go seeking it themselves.
But then she does, yet it’s easy enough to answer.]
No. Far from it. I was in Nibelheim.
[On a mission, but the details were need-to-know, like any business of SOLDIER. Still, he seems to realize that drawing faint parallels between them might be illuminating as to why or how they’ve arrived here, and he offers a question of his own.]
And where were you? If not in Midgar.
no subject
Aerith never scrambles for anything, least of all an answer — there was no question left that she didn't have an answer for, she'd thought. But in this moment she feels at a loss. This she had an answer for, of course, but it was not one that he'd accept, she felt. And so now the matter became one of figuring out what to say, and how much she wanted to reveal.]
I moved.
[She answers, which was not a lie.] There's a little town now, on the outskirts of Midgar. I think it might be after your time. It's been a while since anyone's seen you.
no subject
It halts him, and he turns to look at her properly this time.]
What do you mean by that?
[The obvious question in his eyes otherwise mars his stolid gaze. He cannot help think of what he told Zack — that Nibelheim might very well be his last mission with SOLDIER if he had his druthers about it — but such a thought remains unspoken, belonging only to him. It wouldn't matter, anyway. That decision wasn't made, not yet.]
That it's 'after my time'. I haven't gone anywhere. [Yet. And— What's this about the outskirts of Midgar?] What town?
no subject
If you're the same Sephiroth, then...
The mission in Nibelheim was seven years ago.
[Her gaze flickers down. This is a conversation she was never expecting to have, and the question in his gaze, the humanity present there — it troubles her in a way she cannot admit even in the safety of her own thoughts.] There's a town on the outskirts of Midgar now, called Edge.
[Here, she frowns, her gaze quietly assessing, and finally she can no longer hold her tongue.] You don't know any of this? You don't remember?
[It seemed woefully unfair to her, that he could wreak such havoc, cause so much loss, and then arrive here with a clean slate, but she would not be surprised. This was a dream, or something like it, and if she could exist here whole and unharmed, then so could he.]
no subject
How would I remember that? I told you. I was in Nibelheim.
[His voice has gone curt, clipped. But his mind’s already working to find the contradictions when there are none — treacherously, it informs him of why she would know Nibelheim to be a mission at all. The news would eventually make the rounds if he had disappeared without so much notice. The great Sephiroth, the infallible war hero, last deployed to Nibelheim, the final mission he would choose to undertake.
He doesn’t give her a chance to reply. Sephiroth’s preemptively already labeled whatever she could say as filler, and chooses to move straight to the point at hand.]
You’re telling me that you’re seven years into the future. [Not his future, but the future. His present is very much the real one to him, not this version that this woman is referring to, where he’s already gone and Midgar now has a small town grafted onto its side, appropriately named Edge. He can’t imagine what the company’s stance on that could possibly be.] How is that possible?
no subject
I don't know. [He should no longer exist, not in this way, this form. He had peeled away and discarded parts of himself into the Lifestream: memories, impressions, emotions. And then he had sent out fragments of himself onto the Planet, birthed from dark water, and all too imbalanced to be anything but doomed.] But this is a dream, like I said. Stranger things have happened. And if it weren't for this dream, we wouldn't be meeting like this in the first place. I don't think it's hard to believe that time might move strangely here.
no subject
If this is all a dream, it could disappear at a moment’s notice.
[Meaning, just how tangible should he consider any of this? How much stock should she put in her? What if she was nothing more than a figment of his own mind, spouting nonsense, representative of the uncertainty of a future gone astray from Shinra? He can only imagine that would inspire notions of a seven year stretch of disappearance, or a town that’s cropped up next to Midgar.]
If we awaken, I’ll know if what you're saying is true, sooner or later.
[He’s on the cusp of a potential change. It’s only a matter of making that decision.
Sephiroth doesn’t know what else to say. What there is to say. He lingers for a moment, watching her, before turning to move down the river again.]
...What else has changed?
no subject
[She knows she's real, and tangible in a way she hasn't been in a very long while, but he was entirely different. An anomaly, simply because this version of him no longer existed. He'd tossed it away; she'd witnessed that herself.
But as he'd said, it was a dream.] And I suppose I'll figure out if you're real or not too.
[His question gives her pause. She frowns, troubled, and decides on an answer.] ...Many things. Shinra's lost its hold on the Planet. People are trying to rebuild.