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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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After a moment, he just shrugs, making a noncommittal noise. ]
Well enough.
[ He's found shelter in the hollowed-out remains of a fallen tree as large around as the dining hall where they take their meals, where nothing outside can see the low embers of his fire burning. He'd caught... a rodent, earlier, and skinned it. Something ugly with tusks that couldn't rightly be called a rat or a rabbit. It's cooked now, a little burnt, because Felix is no master chef, but it's... edible, at least.
He stoops to stir the cinders with a stick, briefly, before straightening toward Sylvain, eyeing him with a considering look, taking a step toward him.
He leans close—a little too close—before he realizes what he's doing, nostrils flaring, as if he might smell the stink of some particular battlefield on him if he tries hard enough. As if he'd even know what Ailell or Myrrdin or Gronder smelled like, particularly.]
What's the last thing you remember before this dream?
[ It's the same question Edelgard had asked him earlier, though he understands its purpose a little better now. Moment if truth. Is this his Sylvain, or another entirely? ]
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Oddly enough - because of that, he's hoping he doesn't return home so quickly after all this. If it's a dream, it's not a fitful sleep - and he's probably fallen ill, probably has a fever besides. If it's not, or if it's a dream unique to this new world, then... well, he has to hope time is paused for him at home.
It ought to be, with so many differing world points, even from their own home.
So 'well enough' from Felix will have to be good enough. He's not admitting to injury, which is all he could hope for.
The room of sorts in the hollowed out tree is a bit easier to deal with. The low burning fire makes it easier to see, with light reflecting off the insides of the trunk, and there isn't thick underbrush to trip over. It's sensible. Very Felix.
And he doubts he could have found something similar, stumbling around in the dark as he'd been.]
...Felix?
[Questioning - he never really encroaches that far into his personal space unless he has to - and... they're fine. He doesn't have to. Another oddity of this place, to be sure, but...
Felix's question is far more pressing than his actions.]
Enbarr. We're preparing to invade in the morning, and we suspect Hubert is waiting for us on the other side of the gates with an army. We've pushed Edelgard back this far, and it's only a matter of time until the war's over, we hope.
[He hopes they're from the same timeline, after everything he's heard. Marianne's existence makes him wonder if their placement in that timeline matches up, but... if not, then so be it.
Just don't tell him you've betrayed them, Felix.]
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Enbarr.
[ His eyes flick downward, and he's silent, pensive, processing what that means. As far as Felix is concerned, Gronder was only hours ago. They haven't even had the chance to come to the final decision on whether to march for Enbarr yet. Sylvain must be further along than him, living somewhere in his future. Which means... ]
Then he's abandoned Fhirdiad for the wolves after all. The fool. Why did I expect any better?
[ With a low, inhuman growl he pivots on his heel, kicking at some of the embers scattered by the fire in frustration. Of course.
It doesn't occur to him that he may be missing some of the details. He assumes, naturally, that Dimitri followed Edelgard straight to Enbarr from Gronder, intent on his vengeance at the expense of all else. And why wouldn't he? He's only a beast, after all. Predictable in every way.
Felix crouches by the fire, plucking up his rat-thing-on-a-stick, scowling in a way that bares the tips of canines sharper than they should be. ]
I went to sleep at Gronder Field. Are you hungry? I've lost my appetite.
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Well, despite meeting others from different times, different places, he still assumed - wrongly - that Felix must have been from his own point in time.
Time to do what he's always done, then, and try - fail, maybe, but try - to smooth things over between Dimitri and Felix... or at least get Felix to lower his hackles somewhat.]
He hasn't. We went to Fhirdiad after Gronder to reclaim it. He's... officially king now.
[So perhaps beastly, in Felix's eyes - as always - but not entirely predictable.
Crouching down, Sylvain plucks up a stick to sketch out the continent in the ashes scattered from Felix's frustrated kick - a crude map, sure, but easier to outline their advances.]
Then Claude requested our assistance at Derdriu, and we went. Made it just in time. After that we took back Fort Merceus... and now Enbarr is next, finally.
[So Sylvain is much further ahead than Felix would have ever guessed, and... sure, the explanation is very bare bones to start, but he's trying, here.
...And in regards to the rat-thing-on-a-stick?]
It's too hot for me to be hungry, but we should both eat.
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Am I supposed to believe that?
[ It's a rhetorical question. Of course he believes it, at least, in theory. Sylvain has no reason to lie to him about this. It's his heart that struggles to accept that it might be true, even if it wants to, even if it dares to hope that something might have changed for the better.
It's just he's spent so long spitting venom, witnessing Dimitri's anger and hatred and bloodlust, that hope is little more than a candle flickering dangerously in the slightest breeze.
He pulls out the knife at his belt and slices into the meat, cutting a leg from their vaguely rodent-shaped dinner, then pulling it apart until it cracks at the bone and comes free. He offers the rest to Sylvain. It's still not much as far as food goes, but it's a compromise, at least. ]
What kind of king is he, Sylvain? Tell me the truth. Is he one worth following now?
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[He isn't going to attempt to convince Felix further - he'd given him the true sequence of events, and if he wanted more details, then Sylvain knows he would have asked outright.
But... it's war. The details are never pleasant. He wouldn't want them, either.
And there's not much he can do to convince Felix's heart of the truth, not without going into Rodrigue's sacrifice - and did he even know of that? - and what it meant, how hard Dimitri took it... He'd have to see it for himself, or see what changes - subtle or not - Dimitri's shift had brought in Sylvain. Felix's heart was never easily shifted, after all, and he knows that very well.
So he'll take the compromise on the food - or will appear to, at least, for now. What he'll actually do is shave off bits of meat until he's had about half of it before offering it back, give that leg a chance to get Felix's appetite working, but pressing the issue now is just asking his friend to be contrary about it.]
He is. He's trying, now, at least... so I know he'll turn out to be a good king, if we all get through this.
[Pretty words - and said with a weight and gravitas that show Sylvain believes everything he's said, but... pretty words only go so far, and right now, when it's just the two of them?
He can afford to let emotion show a little more, can admit to things they've both known for years, now.]
I know you've noticed that I fight like I want to die. [When he's not breezing through training like he doesn't have a care in the world, at any rate.] I'm... well, I'm still doing that, because it's worked for me so far, but... I'm not hanging my survival on just our promise anymore.
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Maybe that's always been Felix's way of fighting to keep from breaking their promise. ]
...Good. [ A moment passes, and then he adds, quieter, with none of his usual sharpness: ] I'm sick of losing people.
[ I wouldn't want to lose you too goes unsaid, but it's there all the same.
He glances to the side as Sylvain offers him more food again, and after a moment, he sighs, only so irritated, and takes it. He recognizes that Sylvain's just being practical, and if he can be more honest, maybe Felix can be less stubborn. ]
Don't die at Enbarr, or I'll... [ His throat works, but he can't quite find the right words, so with a quiet whuff, he says simply, in his own kind of honesty: ] I don't know what I'll do, alright? So don't.
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Well. They all were worthy of surviving, and if his last act was keeping someone alive, then maybe he'd have been worth something beyond his crest, too.
He's suspected for a long time that Felix has figured out that line of thought, but... he's never admitted as much out loud, so he can keep pretending he's at all subtle about it, like it's a secret.
But now there's a future in sight that they can try and make - keep - peaceful. One of their dearest friends is coming, slowly, out of Darkness. Both good reasons to try and keep seeing just one more sunrise.]
...I know. Me, too.
[They've lost too many already.
Felix's unsaid sentiment goes unacknowledged, but... he knows it's there. He always has. It's been an undercurrent of every pre-and-post-battle lecture he's given him for all these years, just like he's always thought the same. A not very well hidden aspect of their friendship that... should probably not go unsaid forever.]
Yeah, I don't plan to. [And before... he almost had been. Not that he'll admit as much, but... Dimitri hadn't been quite fit to rule. He suspected he'd fall apart once he achieved his goal of revenge. The war would be over, but the continent would be left in shambles.
He didn't think Edelgard should be allowed to stay in power, after everything, but... who could step up?
And now Dimitri was ready to take on the mantle, so...]
So you better not die, either, when you get there.
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As if I'd be that careless. You know me better than that.
[ Casual arrogance on the surface, though Felix is well aware of his own skill level, but beneath that, it's a promise and a reassurance. He knows there are no promises in war. Battlefields can't be planned for, not stray arrows nor well-placed explosives, but he has no intention of dying either if he can help it.
Besides, he needs to see for himself if Dimitri can really become the king he ought to be, when this is all over.
Some of the tension has gone from him, over the course of the conversation, enough that Felix finally sits back and stretches his legs out instead of crouching by the fire like some sort of irritable gargoyle. ]
...You know you don't have to keep wearing all that heavy armor? I'll tell you if anything's coming. You reek of sweat.