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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. |
no subject
she makes a simple noise of assent at his plea, looking away from him at her own battered hands. ]
No. The Emperor and I saw to that. [ not edelgard. certainly not el, not to this boy, the boar at war with his own demons, overcome by emotion; but that's the problem for both of them, isn't it, there's too much damned emotion and her heart is like endless thunder in her ears, she can't hear herself think, everything is fire and blood and rain and muck and she's still there—
the ashen demon is dead. edelgard saw to that, too. but sometimes, dead things, terrible as they may be, can be a comfort to wrap oneself in. she looks again at dimitri, eyes blank, distant. ]
The mad dragon's Church fell with her.
sorry he asks for exposition dump
The man is too old, too frail, too broken by the violent unrest of his country. In this future Byleth speaks of, is he even still alive? If not, that would make Edelgard Emperor. A fact that means little to him in isolation - they are all to be sovereigns in their own right.
But this story is bereft of any Alliance participation, or news of his companions. Their omission most likely means...
No. Focus. He returns his thoughts to Rhea, the paragon of kindness and understanding among a widely adored religion. What changed? What caused-]
She went mad...? [Not a very diplomatic question, he realizes, and his voice had been too quiet for a prince who had just asserted his position moments ago. He straightens, squares with Byleth in both a gesture of and plea for formality.
Without it, he fears this conversation may quickly be overtaken by the frenzied current still strung between them.]
I have been told I am five years behind in Fodlan's history. I know it is a great burden, but if you are able, please give me a report of all that's happened. [In fragments like this, he can't hope to piece together what had transpired.
What had driven Rhea to those lengths.
Why his people had to burn.]
no subject
maybe edelgard would be better off telling him what's happened... but if byleth's being honest, she worries how dimitri might react to hearing some of this from the flame emperor herself. ]
You may wish to sit back down. Much of this won't be easy to hear, and I'll have to explain... a good deal that happened long before our war against the Church began. I'd ask that you bear with me, and listen to all I have to say. [ maybe easier said than done. ] Please.
no subject
It leaves him uneasy.
He does not want to sit. To be immobile. But her suggestion is logical, and he has demanded enough from her as it is-
Dimitri sits, back rigid and hands folded in his lap. Tense.] Of course.
[He truly means to follow through - doing otherwise would spit in the face of her compliance with his requests.]
no subject
[ byleth drums her fingers on the head of her cane, debating where to begin. about ten seconds pass. finally: ]
... Seiros died today, not a thousand years ago. There's a reason that her casket in the Holy Tomb had no body within it. Rhea... Rhea was a fiction, a false identity. The dragon called Seiros had controlled the Church, and Fódlan, for over a millennium. [ that has to be the first principle here. nothing else she tells him can be understood properly without this, she thinks—even if it's a bombshell in its own right. ] Do you understand so far?
ur a trooper for infodumping him ty
Not at all.
Far too much is uprooted all at once - the identity of Seiros, the continued existence of dragons, the murder of a saint. The information is disorienting, and in the very least he finally understands why she'd implored him to sit.
Dimly, Dimitri remembers thinking how easily the ancient stories of Seiros were paralleled in his lifetime. His teacher fit into the gospel, and even he himself seemed to have some place among the old tales. But that had been a mere curiosity, a coincidence.
Meaningless, he'd thought.]
Go on, please. [He's aware what follows will rely heavily on his belief of these outlandish facts. So, for now, he accepts them cautiously.
Fully intending to delve into the truth of it all on his own.
Lips drawn thin, focus unyielding on Byleth, he waits for her to continue.]
i do my best
The Crests, the Heroes' Relics... they weren't gifts from Sothis. They were stolen from the goddess's children by Nemesis and the Elites, and Seiros hid the truth to build her Church, to grow her vicegrip on the continent. Seteth and Flayn were... complicit. I don't know who they were, but I have... suspicions.
[ she hesitates. ]
Do you remember when we found my mother's body in Abyss? Untouched by time?
fe lore is wack
He fell somewhere in between.
Surely, between the monastery's collection and Abyss, there would be information regarding this. A tale in which every party seems culpable. As history typically goes, though it seems the victor - Seiros - wrote and protected her truth.
Intended for the best, he imagines.]
Yes, I do. [He nods mechanically. It's a lot to take in, but he's accustomed to sifting through the rhetoric of war.] I remember how much had been beyond our comprehension.
sure is
she'd like to think that's the case. ]
I believe... I think she had been an experiment, by Seiros, to make a vessel to resurrect Sothis. It didn't work, but when I was born, between her power and my father's Crest of Seiros... [ she exhales. ]
The only explanation I find... compelling, is that Seiros implanted Sothis's Crest Stone into my heart after I was born. Just as she'd done to my mother.
no subject
He cannot look them in the eye. His neck is forever crooked, staring at his useless hands and the dirt laden with worms who never got a chance to taste the royal blood raised on their soil.
Now, too, he stares at the ground.] You suggest her madness began long ago, and we were simply fooled by a facade? [How plausible the science and magic behind this tale are is utterly beyond his reach, but the conclusion he draws is simple.
He knows it well.]
no subject
... I don't know. Perhaps. I do suggest that... she did much for her own desire for control, and lost sight of most other things a long time ago.
[ she breathes out. ]
At the end of Lone Moon, we marched on Garreg Mach with the Imperial army.
no subject
Rhea or Seiros. Dragon or divine. To Dimitri, she sounds human.
And he refuses to pass judgement until he knows more. Until he's able to look into the matter himself. As king, he could speak with her, but barring that, surely there would be another way-
His hands dart to either side of his lap, snapping around the bench. Cracking the edge. Dimitri looks at her now, and for the first time in this story, he truly cannot understand.]
Why!?
no subject
Because we were determined that her power, and the Crest system, had to be completely uprooted for Fódlan's future. I wasn't going to let Edelgard stand alone.
[ she grips the cane. ]
The war is over now. Fódlan, or our version of it, is unified.
no subject
[With a snap of adolescence in his voice, Dimitri tears his hands away from the bench - scattering chunks of stone and dust. He stands, his back to this teacher who isn't his because if he faces her he may strike.
The church this woman speaks of, the Crest system he knows... of course all it needs to be reformed. Too many people suffer under Fodlan's archaic structure.
But too many people would suffer without those institutions, as well.
There's a logical approach, he knows there is, but Dimitri can't keep his thoughts together. They're incongruous, spiraling into nothing more than a sense - of urgency, of fury, of dread.]
If you think that trampling over the weak in the name of a golden future is any better than the rhetoric of a despot, you have been misled. [His restraint is splintered; it's all he can do to keep mania confined to his voice and not his body-
And if he fails, he does not have his spear, so his hands will have to do.]
no subject
[ again, ice enters her tone. she feels scorn rise inside her at the idea that she should have to justify her actions to a boy from not only the past but a different past, whose path would never have converged with her own. the arrogance of the boar—felix really was right about him. ]
You're making many assumptions about our war. We uplifted the weak, we didn't trample them. It's always an unavoidably messy, bloody thing, but we weren't the ones setting noble houses against one another in senseless conflict for a scheme, [ her voice rises, anger starting to set in as she gets to her feet, glaring at dimitri's back. ] we weren't the ones turning our soldiers into monsters in a desperate effort to stop progress, or the ones leading good men and women to die on a mad quest for vengeance, and we certainly weren't the people burning cities out of spite!
no subject
She doesn't lurch forward, so he flings his arm to the side.]
You are mad! Do you really think that your crimes are somehow less wicked because your tactics differed!? You killed fathers and sons and families and trampled over livelihoods to force your sense of justice onto anyone who refused it!!
I did not hear one mention of diplomacy with the Church in your story. Did you not even try!?
no subject
she's seen dimitri die once today. what's one more? seeing students die again and again isn't new to her, after all, even if sothis's power had let her undo it in the past. ]
Diplomacy—?! [ a disbelieving laugh at the audacity of the suggestion. ] You've seen what Seiros does if she even suspects dissent! And do you really think she might have listened? The moment I refused to murder a student on her order, she intended to tear my heart from my chest, and tried to kill us where we stood!
dimas bonkers
Perhaps she should have.
[An eerie stillness - not calm, but the facsimile of it - settles over him.
What the hell is he saying? When the Archbishop had ordered them to suppress Lonato's rebellion, he had been beside himself with anger.
But that rage had never been directed at the Church of Seiros. It was fueled solely by the lack of reconciliation. Just as now; perhaps if the Church really were as vile as she speaks it is, he would fight against them.
So too, would he wipe away the stain that is this false teacher and her empty cause for war.]
no subject
faerghus propaganda painting her as a monster and madwoman, the heretical emperor's pet mercenary, had been one thing. the names—the whore of enbarr, the false saint, the traitor scholar, child of nemesis, defiler of seiros, always and incessantly ashen demon, and so many others—she had been able to bear, even if they had felt like a thousand cuts upon her slowly growing humanity.
but something about that dehumanization coming from the boy she had once known, and not the madman cut down on the field, shatters any desire she has to keep arguing with him. ]
... I was never very close with the Dimitri I knew. And by the end, there was no reasoning with him. [ that comes softly, with a touch of regret to it. ] But maybe you'll listen now. See me how you like, I've no control over that, but all that separates me from your teacher is a single choice.
[ she begins to make to leave. if there's any productive dialogue to be had with the boar prince, byleth can't imagine that it will come in the dream. ]
good move ending the threat (i mean thread)
Would this woman feel the same? Or would she be cold to the touch, not unlike a corpse?
He almost reaches out, almost thrusts himself out of the fog of his own mania, but he's held in place.
Always kept in the grip of others.
Only once she's left can he bring himself to speak. She is not his teacher, but she could have been.] Professor... what do I do?