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TDM: MARCH
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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 character, put one in! This time around, reserves will expire after the first 48 hours of applications being opened. Those first 48 hours will be open to those who have reserves only, so we recommend placing one. It will not guarantee you a spot, but it will guarantee you can post your app immediately when they open.With that taken care of...
• Applications Open The 24th! There will be a cap of 30 applications accepted this round, and apps will close whenever we've reached that cap. If there are slots left after the reserves-only period, apps will open to those without reserves. 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!
• 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 Underground
Take a moment. Let your eyes adjust to the dark, your ears to echoing silence, but for the steady drip of condensation down the stone walls that surround you. The tunnels down here are wide, the ceilings high, but they are dim, devoid of sunlight and breeze. The only light, in fact, comes from the shards of softly-glowing shards of quartz lining the ground and the bio-luminescent algae that smears the stone in long, blue veins, pulsing gently, pushing breathable air into the otherwise-stale passageways. The air is damp, but the temperature is moderate - almost comfortable. The tunnels fork off and meander from where you are, some narrowing and some widening, but none seem to lead you to the surface, no matter how long you wander. Is it a trick of the light, that the algae glows a little brighter, pulses a little quicker, when you head in a particular direction? It's hard to sort your senses so deep underground, far from the world above where things make sense. Hopefully you've found a friend by now.
 The Crystal Cavern Many of the tunnels, both wide and narrow, lead to the same place: a massive chamber hewn out of the stone by time, and the drip-drip of water from the ceiling into the central lake. Perhaps you came out toward the bottom, and the ceiling is a thousand feet above you, or maybe you came out toward the top, and the lake is a thousand feet below. There are a hundred or more holes in the sloping stone walls that lead to more tunnels, and something like natural steps down from most of them. In a way, it resembles a beehive, this room acting as a central hub of sorts. This is also the first place you find signs of life. Short, tough little tufts of grass growing from the thin soil, bone white in color, having long abandoned photosynthesis and chlorophyll. More of the glowing algae. Small, skittering insects - beetles, grubs and worms. The occasional albino rat, much larger and louder than rats have any right to be. Ruffled and capped fungi growing on the wet rock like parasites, some as large as a grown man. Blind, slimy cave fish wriggling around in the still waters of the lake. And milling around the great stone cavern, slurping up the glowing algae that covers the rocks and grows in lacy sheets across the water, are dozens of great beasts, bigger than horses. Shaped like worms, but with dozens and dozens of stubby, fleshy legs, these creatures are huge, with velvety, multi-colored hides, and though their antennae wave in curiosity when approached, they don't seem aggressive. At least, as long as you avoid the big silk-wrapped bundles stuck to the walls and ground all over the cavern. These are their egg sacs, and if their young are threatened, they'll quickly shoot jets of viscous slime, a quick drying adhesive, that can slow and trap even the strongest adult. If you find yourself in a sticky situation, you better hope someone can wrench you loose - the worms seem content to eat algae, until they've caught prey. Each worm has a long, hooked, chitinous blade concealed within its fleshy jaws to tear and shred, and a nightmarish round mouth full of multiple rows of teeth. Navigate carefully. There at the bottom of the lake, where it feeds into an underground stream that leads down another wide tunnel, there are a few small rowboats, some missing oars, certainly not enough for everyone. You'll have to share if you want to get out of here. Or you can keep hanging out with the giant wormipedes. |
 The Procession As you proceed down the stream by boat, the lighting grows just a little brighter, seeming a little more purposeful in how the glowing algae is planted, how the softly glowing crystals are placed. You start seeing a new type of moss, greyish-green and growing in ragged sheets from the ceiling of the tunnel. Watch your head - it's near impossible to cut through this stuff should you get tangled. For a while, you only hear the soft splashing of the gentle stream, but then... there is a flash of torch light, up ahead. The boat ahead is longer than the one you use, better kept, and full of people - three Monsters, all whose forms are based on creatures that thrive underground, in pieces of armor, holding spears, and one very elderly Witch woman, seated in the middle, wrinkled hands folded primly in her lap. Her milky gaze stares straight ahead, with something soft and proud in the set of her face. One of the Monsters holds the torch, the other rows the boat, and the third settles down next to her; they speak in hushed voices, with little smiles. After a while, the rowing Monster slows the boat, before they can bump into a thick, heavy, impenetrable curtain of grayish-green moss that stretches across the whole tunnel, blocking the way, like a gate. The other two help the woman to her feet, and guide her toward the front of the boat - and the curtain of moss. She reaches out for it blindly, and they help her step onto the edge. There is something almost ritual or reverent about the movements, the way they regard the Witch as she touches the curtain of moss... and is wrapped into it quickly, swallowed up, absorbed. After twenty minutes of gentle pulsing, the lump that used to be the Witch is no more, and the whole of the moss pulses with light and magic. The Monsters watch this whole process vigilantly, and once the lights die down, they continue on. The moss parts to allow the boat through, brushing against the Monsters but not swallowing them. The procession happens a few more times, in separate boats, with separate victims - but all are very, very elderly, and seem proud, even happy to meet their fates. Trying to follow them further after the ritual will have the same thing happen for your boat - the moss will part, and brush over those in the boat without causing harm. If you happen to be infected with the Cwyld, however... you might meet the same fate as the old woman, with the moss reaching and grabbing for you. The procession can be stopped, but drawing attention will draw the ire of the Monster guards, and, strangely, the victims themselves, who will fly into a distressed rage at the interruption. |
 The Marketplace Beyond the veil of moss lies... civilization? The cavern is enormous, big enough to contain a city at least as big as Aefenglom, if not larger, though the population at a glance seems to be much smaller. Twenty thousand people, perhaps, give or take. Buildings have been carved out of huge stone spires, or formed by draping cloth around and between the natural stalactites and stalagmites. Monsters tend to be quite tall or bulky, possessing obvious physical strength, while Witches and humans tend to be shorter than in Aefenglom. They all mingle on the streets together, with no immediately obvious class difference. Since there is no weather to dress for, some don't bother to dress at all, though humans at least tend to wear flowy silks or simple clothes made from wormipede hides. The streets are wide and the buildings far-spaced, and many get around on the backs of those worm creatures, having made them saddles and reins. The stream ends in a lake right next to a marketplace, with many small boats docked on its pebbled shores. The stalls sell all kinds of goods: clothing made from fine silk and worm hide or rat fur, skewered meat (It's bug.), weapons, armor, jewelry made from chunks of beautiful stone. Your arrival is bound to cause a stir though, so keep your head down, and maybe it's time to snatch a disguise from one of the clothing stalls. Monster guards, occasionally flanked by Witches, patrol the streets and keep the peace, and stopping to talk to anyone will make one thing clear: they are not at all used to outsiders. They won't believe a word you say about being from above ground, and they've never heard of your world or Aefenglom. You're nomads from the tunnels, right? Of course, don't be ridiculous, you can't fool them with tall tales! At least they're usually willing to talk - briefly, of course, everyone is very busy down here, it's morning and many will be heading to tend to the herd soon. Those who are subtle and pointed in their questions can learn a lot about the vast but also small civilization below the surface of the world. Strength is valued here - the stronger the Monster or more powerful the Witch, the higher their rank in society, and the closer they live to the center, largest spires of stone. Monster-Witch Bonded pairs are the be-all-end-all, and often wear matching wrist-guards or pendants proudly. Pretending to be Bonded to another will put many of the natives at ease, though Monster-Monster pairs get snide comments about how you have to team up to find a good Witch, and Witch-Witch pairs will get odd looks and assume you both have a very strong Monster partner somewhere. It must be quite rare for Witches to go un-bonded here, and any who pass through without an obvious partner may be propositioned by young Monsters showing off their various talents. Unbonded Monsters may be nudged in the direction of any strange, unbonded Witches - usually fellow Mirrorbound - in a poor attempt at matchmaking. Those poor unbonded Witches need protection, right? Or so the locals think. It's too bad trying to go any farther than the Marketplace will get you stopped by guards and turned back, however. They don't allow nomads into the inner city. |
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for a moment he stands there, shellshocked by the curtain of guts that's become his hair.
then, enraged, blasts the egg sacs with balls of fire. they shrivel, hiss and screech like pockets of steam escaping damp firewood. his tolerance for heat is high, the chimer race's resistances developing over time into a fraction of what they will be in the future but still more than capable of withstanding this required amount. the bottom of his robes burn, though the cloth was sacrificed the moment the slime hit it.
only when free does voryn's neck crane, filthy face making wide, gold eyes stand out starkly in the dim.)
What a pity. I don't doubt you're stuck up there. (so encouraging... but spiles did do him a favour, however disgusting. spits to the side, tasting tin. ew, ew, ew...) I owe you something for saving my life. So drop, boy, and I'll ensure your safe landing. On my honour.
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N-nope, I’m…I’m good! Th-thanks though! I’ll just –
[ The broken base of the stalactite begins to crumble under his weight. Mouth opening to whisper an anxious litany of “no, no, no” (as if a lowered voice is going to stop gravity from happening), Stiles freezes in terror. After a moment, it seems as if the instability has passed and that all will be well. He relaxes, marginally.
Then sections of the stalactite base break loose and he falls, screaming in a very apt impersonation of his dear Banshee friend, Lydia Martin. ]
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(ah, yes. there he goes. dropping from ceiling with all the grace of a dying cliff racer. waits a moment, then steps forward.
with a sharp jerk of his hand, voryn casts a slowfall spell of his own design. he specializes in alchemy and alteration (which is the manipulation of the physical world), but this is known as enchantment, here, and it was simple enough to learn—despite never having practiced it in this dream—and apply. stiles is the only target affected, the stalactites smashing down into the puddle that remains of the wormipedes.
he'll feel weightless and like he's slowed in time, but all that's changed is the speed at which he descends. it'll last fifteen seconds before stiles is unceremoniously dropped the last two feet. voryn'll never admit to having done it pettily, but there is a strange insidiousness to the suddenness of it.)
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Holy shit, [ he breathes as he nears the ground. ] Thank – oof!
[ Spider limbs just catch him before he can faceplant in the viscous, oozy remains of the worm beasts and their young. Eyes watering from the repugnant smell, he lets the extra appendages wheel him up into a standing position – and then, for the first time, takes inspiration from Doc Ock and allows the spider limbs to walk him around, his human feet hanging a foot over the puddled mess. ]
I’m going to pretend you didn’t do that on purpose. Thanks, dude. You, uh, you okay? It’s probably not a good idea to let that stuff dry on your skin.
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still, voryn looks upon stiles as an accident. a cursed creature being pulled together onto ill-fitting pieces. it shows in his glance up.)
No. You are right, and I won't be. (he's already shedding the first layer of robe, a second beneath it, as he turns away to navigate through the bloody muck.) Any concerns you have for me are likely warranted, but ultimately unnecessary as I'll be taking to that stream down this escarpment. You may join me.
... what is your name?
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It’s something stupid and complicated. Just call me Stiles, everyone does.
[ From his higher vantage point, Stiles peers at the dark waters with suspicion. ]
How about you, bud?
[ If something pulls you under, he is so not diving in to help you back out. ]
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(voryn walks with purpose, toward a serious of plateau-like outcroppings. they sit, each longer than the other, like the steps of giants. a massive staircase of sedimentary rock. impressive. he'd quite like this place if it wasn't so damn damp.)
Lord High Councillor Voryn Dagoth. I'm the grandmaster of the Sixth House, which is my family House. (stops a "stair" lower, raising his head to look back at stiles. somehow it still seems as though he's looking down, but he doesn't look upset. in fact, he seems used to it. (with all of the outlanders visiting from the far reaches of tamriel, he is.)) Now, you address me as "Lord High Councillor," or "Lord Dagoth." Then you may cast aside the rest and simply use "My Lord," or "Serjo."
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Voice pitched low, struggling not to laugh, Stiles intones: ] M’lord.
[ He holds the position for all of three seconds before he’s cackling, teetering side to side as the extra appendages struggle to keep him balanced through his hysterics. ]
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(sweeps a leg.)
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You bitch.
[ Treading water with his human limbs, he directs all eight spider limbs to begin splashing Voryn – payback that actually propels him backward through the water at an alarming speed. ]
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Should you persist in feeling that common courtesy is beneath you, then you may sink to the depths to find it. (waving a wet hand to indicate the river, voice projecting easily over its babbling. it is a deep, clear dark, and populated with blind creatures who seek out vibrations in their rarely disturbed cave.) But reach out to me and call me by name, Stiles, and I will welcome you back on this shore. I only want my titled respected, for it was mine to earn and it was—in part—bestowed upon me by my Lord, Nerevar Moon-and-Star.
I take great pride in it, as does my House.
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1/2
2/2
thin robes hug at tawny skin, before billowing out from him like a cloud.
relatively clean again, perhaps he should later thank the boy for being an imbecile. pushing at a loose sash of fabric, voryn grasps one of the flailing limbs and shoves it back into the water to better clear the way for the hook he makes around stiles' waist. by no means robust, the added weight of water makes him grimace with the effort, but they manage to haul themselves to shallows they can stand in.)
Go to shore, (a grunt, avoiding the slap of a stray tarsus,) then leave me be.
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L-leave…you be? [ Spoken from where he is currently faceplanted onto stone, with no inclination to turn over and properly address Voryn. ] Y-you’re the one…who…!
[ Suddenly, all eight spider limbs reanimate. Straightening into the air, they begin to shake water off their delicate hairs vigorously – beneath them, Stiles whines unhappily as he’s showered in the cold droplets.
He’s not going anywhere, Voryn. If you need peace, you’ll have to find it elsewhere. ]
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(rich off-white material sagging sadly from his shoulders, he emerges to address stiles and those quivering limbs.)
Those worms will be drawn to what remains of their eggs, so I recommend that you leave as soon as you collect yourself. Where one or two protect the nest, more undoubtedly roam nearby... it is their way. (spoken like a true mer of resdayn, province of fucking bugs and all manner of strange, squirming creatures. now to find a way to cross the stream, already walking down the shoreline with a tightening of his sash.) Goodbye, Stiles.
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