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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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...who somehow manages to blame himself for this. whether it’s an actual dream remains to be seen, though lan wangji isn’t about to fault him for being stuck here. he’s glad for it, if anything, because despite all the lurking dangers, wei wuxian’s alive, and it’s more than anything he’s ever wished for. it is a dream come true, a chance for wei wuxian to start anew, to be understood, and lan wangji’s own guilt feels tight in his throat, chin lowered. )
I don’t mind being here. ( with you, a confession left unsaid as he slowly breathes in and lets his arm relax against wei wuxian’s, eyes a little unfocused across the stream as he cautiously avoids wei wuxian’s gaze. )
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but then lan wangji says that he doesn't mind it. a little of the heaviness lifts from his heart, especially when it's so easy to fill in the blanks left by lan wangji's words. he stares at his profile for a moment, smile reappearing after being gone for too long.]
Ah, Lan Wangji really takes his promises seriously. [normally it's not a good sign when he uses his courtesy name. but there's not the sharp edge to it of last time. if anything, there's a fondness in wei wuxian's voice that made it a good choice.] You'd come to help me even in a place like this.
[he makes a face while rubbing his back back and forth against the bark. wei wuxian isn't about to ask for himse help there. what he's already seen is bad enough.]
Then I don't mind being here either, as long as I have you here to keep me from being bored.
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never again. wei wuxian has always exuded contagious energy, and lan wangji’s already vowed to preserve it. he is so much more than the pariah he became. so much more than tricks or the mistakes he made. they call lan wangji hanguang-jun, but it’s wei wuxian who’s always radiated, only obscured by fear and narrow minds.
his statement doesn’t surprise him; he’s always had a taste for adventure, but boredom here should be counted as a blessing. lan wangji makes a little noise in response, akin to a snort; his eyes naturally drift towards him, then his face, not quite a smile but a brighter glint in his gaze. it feels oddly peaceful all of a sudden, but the question begs; where was he before he ended up here?
his expression dims a little, taking a few moments to formulate his thoughts. ) Wei Ying. ( another pause, his gaze briefly easing off him as he savors his name. ) Before I found you… ( or rather, before he awakened here—or fell asleep, anyway. ) ...do you remember what you were doing?
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he turns his head when he says his name, trying to make out lan wangji's face in the growing darkness. wei wuxian presses his arm against him a little more, not to push him away but just to validate his presence through the contact.
he scoffs at the question.]
Lan Zhan, my memory isn't that bad. Of course I remember. I was just leaving that disaster of a mountain hunt. [after taking thirty percent of the prey for yunmeng jiang. wei wuxian's mouth twists, both at what happened and what he also knows will.] That madam Jin, she's going to talk up that peacock son of hers like he'll ever be good enough for Shi-
[wei wuxian stops himself mid rant, wondering at the sudden strangeness of the question. lan wangji should know, he was there with him. he recalls that too now, his face right there in his periphery, hyper focused on him. his touch and the sound of his name on lan wangji's lips, the only thing holding him together when he felt like h was coming apart. even know, it helps.
he proceeds with caution.]
Lan Zhan...why did you feel the need to ask me that?
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so much has happened. so much that wei wuxian has missed, unaware of his own death, of his own losses. it’s a little harder to breathe suddenly, and lan wangji rests stiff against the bark, every inch of him tense. he doesn’t know how to tell him. he doesn’t know if he should, and when his eyes open again, droplets of rain fall upon his nose, his hands, maybe in lieu of the unshed tears he manages to hold back.
silence reigns for a moment. it’s not unusual, but this one is particularly heavy, loaded with all the things lan wangji doesn’t know how to say. and then, after a long exhale: ) I was night-hunting. ( and this is why he felt the need to ask. because he wasn’t with wei wuxian. because he’s a decade older and bears the scars of his loss, losing himself now in the contemplation of his knuckles, white around his knees, a mess of grief and disarray in his mind. )
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wei wuxian's not unaccustomed to these long silences. there's no guarantee of getting an answer at all when talking to lan wangji. he watches him anyway, and for a moment he does think that he's crying, heart leaping into his throat. but then he hears the pattering against the top of his shelter and there's relief. could he count the tears that have actually been shed for him?]
Night-hunting? [the confusion is clear in his voice. it doesn't add up.] Lan Zhan, how could you have been night-hunting already when you were just with me?
[his heart starts to pound a little faster. he thinks of the way lan wangji looked at him earlier. he looks at him now and sees small differences that he didn't notice before, or noticed and attributed to the differences between dreams and reality. his eyes go to lan wangji's hands, the tight fist and the white knuckles, and he realizes that some people fall apart more quietly than others.
he reaches over to cover that hand with his. whatever lan wangji is holding on to so tightly, wei wuxian wants him to let it go and hold on to him instead.]
Lan Zhan. [his voice is softer when he says his name. let it be his turn now. let him help hold him together.] It doesn't matter. We're here now.
YOU ARE THE MOST EVIL
his grip tightens around his knee, jaw wired shut as he stares unblinking. do better. be better. rise where you’ve fallen before, and lan wangji closes his eyes on a sharp, inaudible inhale, a mantra in his head as he focuses on the warmth and softness of wei wuxian’s skin. it doesn’t have to matter. not if he vows to find a way to right his wrongs somehow, and help wei wuxian be heard. shield him from the mess that followed his return from the burial mounds, and never leave his side. maybe this is another chance, and he can’t risk ruining it by clinging to unresolved fears and old grievances.
he doesn’t know how, or why, or when. nothing makes sense here, but he knows wei wuxian, and as he gradually recovers his inner quietude, he finds the strength to look up, at him, through the branches of the shelter. fingers loosen; he rolls his wrist to let their palms connect, a little tip of his head as he slowly blinks. and there, his lips, stretched into a gentle smile, a promise he doesn’t voice. )
but you're catching up fast!
and then wei wuxian came back from the burial mounds with shadows and secrets, and the last thing he wanted to do was inflict them on lan wangji like a curse. and then it was the other's turn to ask, let me in. how much had he let him and how much had he refused? lan wangji. he'd never locked himself up tighter than when he said that name.
and here it is his turn again, and it hurts watching the other man - his soulmate - go through whatever he's going through. it feels like it should be half his by right, and that's why wei wuxian exhales so heavily when he finally turns his hand around for him to grasp. lan wangji's smile is small, more valuable than jade, and he beams in response even as the tears sting his eyes.]
Lan Zhan.
[there's no reason to say his name, at least none beyond the sweetness of saying it. the comfort it brings as his own personal prayer.]
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so he doesn’t elude him any longer. he’s accepted his feelings for him long ago, however overwhelming. he doesn’t have a name for every single one of them—it doesn’t matter. all he knows is that he wants to be by his side, now, tomorrow. until the day he dies.
the rain patters in the rustling leaves of the trees, the makeshift nest, and wei wuxian’s skin, where lan wangji’s fingers are intertwined with his. he could gaze at him in silence for hours on end, and it feels a little less tight in his throat now, but no less cramped in his chest. it’s full of all the things he doesn’t know how to say, and it’s abstract and it’s surreal but it’s potent, warmth and hope and gratitude. he basks in the sound of his own name with the same smile that lingers a little longer, and then only a hint of tenderness remains—in his eyes, mostly, which slowly drift down. chenqing, in wei wuxian’s lap. useless here, and it’s just as well. still, he’ll need something to defend himself—aside from lan wangji’s body—and that newfound fur on his arm won’t cut it. ) Wei Ying. ( he glances back up, resolute. ) Until you find another sword, my blade is yours. ( to wield as he wishes. )
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but 'now, tomorrow, until the day he dies', that much it would definitely understand.
he looks up at the sound of raindrops on the roof of his shelter and then back at lan wangji. the obvious question in his eyes, will you come in here now? there's nothing they shouldn't share, be it a few loquats or hardships. he once believed that. with time and trust, he hopes to get back to it. starting right now.
he squeezes lan wangji's hand, and moves as if to pull him in before those words make him pause.]
Your sword?
[apparently they're having similar thoughts about sharing hardships, of being there for one another. wei wuxian raises his eyebrows at him, a little unsure of his exact offer. he wouldn't physically hand bichen over, would he? them again, that sword has already defended him, lan wangji an extension of the weapon.
either way, it makes a little spot of warmth spread through his chest.]
Lan Zhan, I'm out of practice. [he smiles softly. someone like him shouldn't touch hanguang-jun's sword, but someone like him probably shouldn't be with hanguang-jun at all.
so, with a little mischief in his eyes:]
Can I touch it?
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his entire side is glued to him, from shoulder to knee. thunder rumbles in the far distance; lan wangji’s heart calls right back, a skip here and there, a little louder in his ears. there’s a hint of impishness in wei wuxian’s gaze, though why is anybody’s guess. can i touch it, and lan wangji squints; how else is he going to practice? bichen is his as much as lan wangji is, and even if the innuendo hadn’t flown right over his head, the answer would still be the same. )
Mn. ( innocently, he grabs his sword and unhesitantly offers it to him, subdued delight in his gentle scrutiny, a solemn nod. ) Wield it properly. ( show him how it’s done, wei wuxian. )
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his eyes widen briefly when bichen is placed in his hands, a soft gasp caught on his lips. it's heavier than he imagined, warmer to the touch than its aura would lead one to believe. it's likely just another case of being here, the spiritual tool being affected along with the cultivator who wields it.
wei wuxian smugly likes to think that it has something to do with him.
he unsheathes it, the blade catching and reflecting what little light it can find in the darkness.]
Lan Zhan...why didn't I ever notice it before? I think your sword is the most beautiful I've ever seen.
[suibian must've seemed plain by comparison. he clicks it back into its sheath, letting it come dangerously close to touching his lips.]
How could I ever want another?
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he doesn’t know how wei wuxian could want another; he’s already discarded his own, and lan wangji knows he’s treading on thin ice here. wei wuxian’s accepted to wield his despite his weaponry reticences a decade ago, and lan wangji won’t push his luck. he already opposed him enough in the past; unless wei wuxian is in immediate danger, regardless of his choices, lan wangji is here to support him.
so he doesn’t mention suibian—he never will, unless he feels completely welcome to do so—and as the rain falls a little heavier, droplets finding their way through the roof and upon his cheeks, he brushes off wei wuxian’s remark with the facial-expression equivalent of a… bashful shrug? ) The essence of a sword resides in the strength of its wielder. ( a strong and firm grip, which in lan wangji’s language means that any weapon in wei wuxian’s hand would be magnificent, the reflection of his nature which largely surpasses bichen’s radiance. )