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TDM: May
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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 on up June 1st. The application page can be found here.
• 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!
• While current players won't be allowed to post top levels on the test drive itself, feel free to reference or play with the dreams in-game.
• 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 Eternal Fall
The smell of autumn leaves surrounds you, a myriad of colors sparkling into existence at the same time. Despite the warmth and light, the air feels heavy and stiff, as if on razor's edge. The forest is eerily silent - not a bird, bug, or rodent dares to stir - and when you do hear something, it's the high-pitched crying, whining, weeping, sobbing, howling sounds of something far off. The tunnel of bent branches invites you further with an unpleasant compulsion; though fighting it and turning around finds you in front of a chilly, damp cave alight with the faint, cool glow of bubbling fountains and streams.
 The Compulsion Unable to sway yourself from the call of the forest - or maybe you're simply curious as to where it leads - your feet pull you further and further into the autumnal tunnel. The cry from before grows more distant, but in return, the air weighs even heavier on your shoulders than before. The branches hang lower and lower as well, as if pushed by gravity, until their leaves smack your face, twigs offering small cuts from the thorns protruding from their bark. But you can't stop. Not now. The end of the tunnel seems so close; but it's seemed that way for a while now, you suppose, and you've already come this far - you might as well stay the course, wherever it might lead. The further you go, the brighter everything becomes, and you realize it's the leaves surrounding you; they've begun to glow, encouraged by the sunlight streaming in from above, and the wind begins to whisper in your ear. At first, it's only encouraging things, or silly facts - harmless words, but as the foliage begins to shimmer and reflect your image, the wind's words turn colder. Within those reflections on the autumn tunnel, you begin to see your worst moments - morally, ethically, emotionally. The things you don't want anyone else to know, that you'd feel ashamed or struck for anyone - especially those close to you - to see. The wind becomes louder as the scenes play out one right after another, boldly declaring your true feelings as they were in that moment, good or bad. Worst of all - you still can't bring yourself to turn back, even as your mind begins to free itself from the tunnel's compulsion. Maybe someone else can help out, if they're not too taken by their own memories, or maybe the shock of sharing such private secrets will jolt you and anyone else back to reality. Either way, it's that, or staying stuck watching your worst memories play on repeat for what feels like the rest of your life. |
 The Cry While not compelled by any means, you still feel a curious draw down the path in front of you; as you follow the leaf tunnel, with others or alone, you find another, less-traveled path. Following it reveals a large pond colored orange and gold by the reflection of the area it's in, sunlight and shadows playing on its surface. At a glance, it seems to be rather shallow, but that's hardly the truth. You realize, after a moment, that the crying has continued, evidently coming from the water. Looking closer, the culprit is an infected Merrow, who - upon begin seen - shrieks and dives for whoever's looking at it with the clear intent to drag them down beneath the water. Its claws are extra sharp, its teeth similar to a shark in number and shape, and its scales have turned a pale black; an oil-like substance flows from beneath them and from its gums as well, shimmering the same way gasoline does in the light, and its eyes are the tell-tale white of a Shade. It isn't impossible to fight it to get away, especially as some of you have new abilities at hand, and some of you have a few neat changes to help that along. Once distance is successfully put between you and the infected Merrow, it howls in a wet, warbly voice, visibly frustrated. Unlike ordinary Merrows, who can walk on land and have legs as long as they stay dry, this Merrow can't seem leave its pond at all, and electricity sparks from it like little static shocks in its irritation. It does dive back under once it realizes it can't reach you, resurfacing as your character's most important person in an attempt to lure them back. The expressions are far too real, too genuine; even those aware it's a Merrow might be fooled. While its voice isn't a perfect mimicry, the song it begins to sing has with it notes of yearning and beckoning to join it, join your beloved person, in the water. |
 The Cave Pulling yourself from curiosity or compulsion, the cave behind you - in front of you, if you've turned around - gives off an oddly pure feeling. Like an oasis in a desert, it feels refreshing and calm; incredibly safe, compared to the eerie call of the forest it's in. Within the cave are pools of water that glow and glimmer from the magic runes found around them. The runes shift similar to a mirage whenever you try to focus on them; and try as you might, you can't glimpse what they say exactly. It isn't so hard to figure out though, as the pools of water surrounded by them have a pleasingly cold temperature, while those without them are near scalding. A few of the latter have runes around them, but they're not glowing like the rest - feeding a little magic into them changes this immediately, and steam rises in a sudden blast as the water cools rapidly. The opposite can be done for the colder pools too - taking their magic somehow or ruining the runes will make them bubble and boil as they surge in temperature. But that isn't all the cave has to offer. Moving further inward, you get the feeling you're going down - beneath the ground and the enchanting forest. Eventually, the cave widens out to a massive underground lake, multiple waterfalls pouring into it; despite their number and size, the room is completely silent. All tunnels seem to lead to this one room, with a few of them looking more man-made than natural. Traversing other tunnels leads you into a maze that only ever brings you to the lake, or to the cave's entrance, no matter how many different paths you take. Something different happens eventually though; signs of life begin to appear, or at least signs that life once lived there. Leather pouches rotted by the dampness of the cave hang on sharp nails beaten into the cave walls, with boots in similar condition strewn here and there. Torn, soaking clothing lays in piles in the tunnels, and candles burnt down to their wick's end stand in shelves carved from the navy blue and black stone. There's broken toys and books too waterlogged to read, instruments with snapped strings or clogged holes, and - most peculiarly - smooth, round devices that heavily resemble large pocketwatches or hand mirrors. They refuse to turn on though, either due to age or due to the wetness of the air. |
Henry | Fire Emblem Awakening | witch
The Cry
Other
Compulsion
... Was there really no other way? [ She asks that question of him seriously, searching his expression. More than anything else, it's the hollowness of the memory that nags at her thoughts. What kind of person does something like that? What must they have lived through? Part of her wants to recoil from the sight in front of her again, but all the same, her curiosity's piqued enough to remain here and ask. ]
What were you fighting for?
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[Henry tips his head to his shoulder, trying to puzzle out her question. Isn't it obvious? Fighting, bloodshed, all of it is because there's war. There's no stopping a war, and he fights because there is one. There always has been a reason to fight, for as long as he can remember. The scene playing out in the dancing leaves has Henry chanting yet another spell with a menacingly upbeat aura, summoning forth the ichors of hell to do his bidding. The miasma of green-hued enchantment encloses around another Plegian, squeezing her under intense magical pressure until she's no more.
He hums thoughtfully, his breath ending on a lilting note.]
I was fighting 'cause if I didn't, that would be dumb. Duh. I'd be no better than a pretty scarlet stain on the ground like those guys. And as neat as I think that is, it's a little soon for me! And I defected like that because if I'm gonna fight, I'd at least like to have some fun! [Henry raises a pointer finger in an as-a-matter-of-factly gesture, as though this makes perfect sense.] Plegia had the upper hand, so I thought I could REALLY make things interesting if I fought on Ylisse's side. Turns out I was right! I got to squash sooo many bad guys.
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Yako frowns at the memory and decides she'd rather not continue watching the gore in favor of focusing on the actual, breathing person beside her instead. He isn't any more comprehensible than that image, but at least he's alive. ]
That doesn't seem like a very good reason. [ It's stated as an opinion rather than a judgement. Attacking because the other option is to be attacked, without thinking any more about it; that sounds almost more the instinct of an animal than a human mind. ] What's Plegia and Ylisse?
[ The way she stumbles slightly over the words, it's clear she's never said them before. ]
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Eh, just some countries that hated each other's guts. Ylisse's all about the Divine Dragon, and Plegia worships the Fell Dragon. They're opposing ideologies, in case you couldn't tell. That's politics! It doesn't matter much to me. As long as I get to roast some bad guys, I didn't care which side I'm on!
[Henry points his fingers at some of the fleeing soldiers in his memory, making little "pshew pshew!" sounds as though he could zap the soldiers across time and space. Then he laughs again, amused at his own imagination of their ruin.
The Henry in his memory ceases his attack once Plegia's retreated, severing him from his homeland once and for all. But there is no feeling of increased loneliness whispered by the wind: crows swoop in, cloaking Henry in their inky feathers. He was more lonely in the ranks of Plegia's army than the chance to carve his own path, in the end. The lack of killing's the boring part, Henry's decided, and he turns back to Yako.]
What's the problem with my reason, anyway? I think it's pretty compelling. War's war, and bowling my enemies over with spell after spell's a real adrenaline rush! Is there any better reason to do something than having fun?
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There's nothing wrong with having fun, but there are plenty of ways to do that without going to war for it. [ Her fingers worry at the hem of her sleeve, absently. ]
I'm sure to those soldiers, you looked like a bad guy too. [ Her lips quirk slightly, as though at some private thought, and she shakes her head slightly, putting a hand to her chin. ] I guess ... it just feels like the way a child would think? Doing things just because it feels good.
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[Henry's smile grows, and he snickers. He's getting the feeling that Yako's on a different wavelength from him, as are a lot of the people he's met during his journey with the Shepherds. All he can do is affirm that she's got the right idea, all while explaining his stance. Henry clasps his hands behind his back as he sways idly.]
Otherwise, you've pretty much got it. I'm TOTALLY the bad guy in somebody's story. There are families without mothers and fathers and siblings, all bcause I crushed their heads like watermelons before they could say their last words! [Henry pinches his fingers together.] It's this really neat technique I came up with all by myself... Buuuut I get the feeling you don't want the nitty-gritty. I dunno. People hate war and dying and stuff, but war and dying... are just part of life! Being all somber about it sounds like a real drag.
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...You’re right, I’d rather not hear the details. But I don’t think ending someone else’s life is so easy when you can put yourselves in their shoes ... or think about how the people they care about must feel when they’re gone. Every person is unique — they’re not something you can replace as easily as you can destroy it. Thinking that loss doesn’t matter is what’s childlike, I think. [ Though her tone isn’t so much lecturing as puzzling something out. Ah, she’s got it. ]
The way you talk reminds me of someone I used to know. [ Sai, before they became XI, who’d thought the best way to understand the self was to take apart others and study their makeup. The leaves shiver and Henry’s memories waver, like they’re responding to her words. ]
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[Henry's memory sequence may have been successfully disengaged at the prompting of her recollection bringing the dark mage out of his own headspace. He leans forward.
Can't be replaced? Of course they can't be. Once they're gone, they're gone for keeps; Henry knows this all too well. He doesn't flinch at her description of the difficulties of death, and for a moment, he even tenses. He finds himself feeling misunderstood, but it's not uncommon for people to assume that his attitude on death is so broadly dismissive of its damage.]
I never said the losses don't matter. Of course they do! But hey, if I remind you of someone you used to know... Is that a good thing, or not? [A beat.] Oh! Are they dead? Is that why you're so bothered by this stuff?
spoilers for chapter 57 of her canon onward ... also sorry for poor scanlation dialog @@;
I suppose it’s a good thing. Yes, they died a few years ago. [ Feeling unhappy that Henry speaks so lightly about killing people is more just from thinking that’s not something anyone should do rather than relating to Sai, thought. There’s a hint of sadness in her voice, but she gestures at the leaves, its images reconfigured to show a scene she recalls from her own memories. ]
This is ... the first time I met them.
[ Theres a tableau of something out of the denouement of a detective story — former suspects and police officers gathered around the living room, including a much younger Yako in her school uniform — but all of that is irrelevant. Everyone’s attention is on the half-transformed human figure casually ripping off dog ears from their own head while their lower body remains a dog’s, like they had forgotten how to transform halfway through. They’re much more interested in the immobile, blue-suited body laying in the rubble on the ground, wondering out loud about what damage a point-blank hit with a shotgun might’ve done. When no response seems forthcoming, they frown like a disappointed child.
"These aren’t the insides I was hoping to see," they declare, raising the shotgun in their hand and taking aim. The wind murmurs Yako’s emotions in that moment: helpless, terrified, worried —before a series of shots ring out and Sai crashes to the ground, more surprised than in pain. Henry can see it as clear as day as anyone in that room can — although they look injured, they’re already beginning to heal. The police officer who took the shot shouts for everyone to stay back, but one of the other civilians in the room makes the mistake of getting too close.
Moving with inhuman speed, Sai uncoils from the floor and smashes his head right into the wall, the impact of his skull splitting leaving a blood spatter that extends halfway to the ceiling. In the present, Yako winces. ]
I’d almost forgotten about that...
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the cry
Almost literally.
Right above the Merrow, in hopes of providing a distraction. It's a good thing she was granted these wings, as it turns out. ]
Watch out! It's going to attack you!
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...It seems her urgency isn't contagious.]
You have wings! Which organ did you have to sell to get those pretty things, huh? I'm SO jealous! [Henry points at Corrin in the sky from his place on the disappointing ground. Then he remembers her warning, and drops his finger to quickly follow up with an answer for her.] Oh, yeah. Being attacked is kiiiind of the idea. I can't try dispelling the curse if the fishy-thing doesn't come closer.
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[ She does indeed have wings! And she's very glad for them... but she's about ten seconds away from using those wings to scoop him up and get him the hell away from the Merrow. She circles around the Merrow, low enough for it to possibly reach her, but she's fast, so it's not an issue.
For now. Corrin shakes her head. ]
But if it attacks you, you might get cursed, too!
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[Even though his magical abilities feel totally replaced with a different skill set, he knows his capabilities with dispelling curses is second to none. Thank you, dream world, for giving him this in his magical arsenal, at least.]
But hey, I have an idea! If you're going to get your smallclothes in a twist about it, why don't you use those wings of yours to help me lure it to shore? Then I can get a better chance at un-cursing the poor thing, without having to use my twiggy body as mer-people bait. What do you say?
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I can do that! No problem. [ If it means that he won't get hurt, and the creature won't be cursed anymore, then it's really no contest. ] Tell me when you're ready, and I'll lure it on over.
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[Finally, Henry retreats to a safer distance from the lakeside, just as Corrin wished for before. He spins on his sandal-clad heel and cracks his knuckles, just for show.]
'Kay! Let 'em at me, and we'll see just what kind of curse we can slough off! [Henry punctuates this with a single, sharp laugh, then a sigh.] Hope this works.
la contrainte
It's not the bloodshed that disturbs Soren to behold, it is the holder of the memories and his blithe disregard for the lives that he takes, treating it like some deranged child's game instead of with the gravity it warrants. He supposes a regular overdose of violence can be much like any drug, one that warps a person's mind so grotesquely that they get a heady rush every time they indulge. A drug that dulls the true misery of reeking iron and sharp, gasping screams. An addiction, maybe, or an easy way to cope. And on the battlefield, coping is imperative.
But nothing is more inhuman than a proud disregard for the lives of others. And this disregard is twisted into perverse glee. He laughs at the fallen. Relishes the memory of it.
It's disturbing. Revolting, even. People like this are only good at hurting others. No, as many as possible.
Soren can claim he doesn't care what happens to anyone else, but he still finds the innumerable ways in which humans can wrong one another repulsive. And maybe that's the way he's found a way to cope with a profession of killing: a sweeping contempt for humankind as a whole. But there's no justice in it, and no satisfaction, either. Just survival. Definitely nothing to giggle like a schoolboy at.
Distaste traces the frown he regards his fellow dreamer with as he coldly delivers his sarcastic reply.
"How charming. Dark magic, I presume?"
my french class was at 5am
Soren's met with an enthusiastic nod, as if the demonstration's done a fine example of proving his hunch.
"Yeah! But I think that's kinda obvious." Henry grips the edge of his cape, whipping it around to draw Soren's attention to it. "I don't look like much of a monk or sage, do I? I can cast all of that anima stuff... But dark magic's killer! If you were a dark mage, you'd understand. But I guess you're not."
Henry takes an experimental step toward Soren. "Bummer."
it was 5 am est when i wrote that
"I don't need to be a dark mage to understand that whether anima or dark is cast, it ultimately achieves the same 'killer' end," Soren replies with no enthusiasm. "One of them simply comes at less of a personal cost."
i don't even know language at 2am
Behind him, the memory continues: Plegian soldiers cry out, but one's voice stands out among the rabble: "Damn him! What the hell...?! I remember Mustafa's bootlicker being more docile, but now that he's passed... Why the hell's he become such a troublemaker?!" The onslaught of Henry's spells do not cease, however.
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"I do know," Soren replies, watching the grisly magic rot his prey to nothing. "That's why I've never been interested in studying it. You're chasing something beyond the mere extinction of your foes. I'm not like that."
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"Yeah, uh-huh." If there's anything Soren's reply has suggested to him, it's that this boy before him practices something other than dark magic. He has a sense for it, but it feels all wrong somehow; Henry attributes it to the way his powers have been modified by this dream's influence. "What DO you do during a good fight, then? Kill people, and move along? You're doing the same thing as me, when you cut through the meat of the matter. May as well make it enjoyable, I say! I'd be pretty happy to hear that somebody had a good time cleaving me in two grisly halves, if I had to go out that way."
He shrugs.
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"People like you, who derive pleasure from the act of killing in and of itself... It's easy to understand what motivates you. Your loyalty comes cheap, doesn't it?"
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"Yep. Just point me at the enemy, and I'll wipe 'em out for you," responds Henry, pointing his fingers at Soren in imaginary spellcast. "There's always some kind of war going on no matter where I go, you know? So I may as well pick the side that needs me most... 'Cause then I get to kill more enemies! Nya ha!"
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"And that's the price for buying cheap loyalty," he replies, still biting back the pang from seeping into his soft voice at that first sentence. It evens out the longer he speaks, but with an air of subdued tension left over. "It can be bought just as cheaply by someone else — including the enemy. Anyone who understands that should never trust you as a comrade." He trains his focus on the mysterious swordsman at his side. "But you're probably fine with that... unless you were to turn coats with the same side one too many times. The fun might be over shortly."
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