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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. Aside from that, here are some quick reminders:• The Application Queue is open. Applications run on a rolling queue system. The application page is always open to submissions, and applications will be processed in order of submission. Verdicts will always go out by the final week of a month, though we can't promise an exact date -- we'll get to them as quickly as we can throughout the month! If your application is submitted during the last week of a month, it may be rolled into next month's batch of applications. The application page can be found here.With that taken care of...
• We have a brand new Game World Wiki created with the immense help of our Wiki Bards: Noa, Prince, Maruah and Ran. Thank you so much! It's still being updated, but most of the main game info is there for you in an easily searchable manner. All other info can still also be found through our Navigation page!
• 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!
• For current characters, TDM threads can be used for AC.
• And finally, since this is part of our event, characters already in-game ARE allowed to top-level on this post.
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 Calamity
The taste of magic in the air is electric on your tongue, supercharged, bright, a little tart and fizzy like popping candy. The settlement you find yourself in is unfamiliar to you, but you can tell it is bustling, beautiful, a center of culture and activity for its bygone era. The architecture blooms with elaborately carved flourishes, but you cannot shake the feeling of... otherworldliness that it brings to mind. (Perhaps you are a veteran of these dreams and remember a ship with similar embellishments from far away, that came bearing invaders, in a time long ago.) It is nearly impossible to tell what season you find yourself in - pockets of spring bloom with new life, right next to pockets of winter snowstorms; playful fall winds laden with leaves tug at your hair, and in some spots, it feels hot and muggy like the middle of summer. None of these patches of seasonal mayhem are very large, a few city blocks’ worth at most, and they all butt up against each other, tumultuous, fighting for real estate in a place where the magic bubbles freely up through the ground like a wellspring, uncontrolled. In a way, it seems like a wilder version of Aefenglom’s seasons always being opposite the season in the Wilde, similar but more widespread, more disharmonic.
The Calamity
The taste of magic in the air is electric on your tongue, supercharged, bright, a little tart and fizzy like popping candy. The settlement you find yourself in is unfamiliar to you, but you can tell it is bustling, beautiful, a center of culture and activity for its bygone era. The architecture blooms with elaborately carved flourishes, but you cannot shake the feeling of... otherworldliness that it brings to mind. (Perhaps you are a veteran of these dreams and remember a ship with similar embellishments from far away, that came bearing invaders, in a time long ago.) It is nearly impossible to tell what season you find yourself in - pockets of spring bloom with new life, right next to pockets of winter snowstorms; playful fall winds laden with leaves tug at your hair, and in some spots, it feels hot and muggy like the middle of summer. None of these patches of seasonal mayhem are very large, a few city blocks’ worth at most, and they all butt up against each other, tumultuous, fighting for real estate in a place where the magic bubbles freely up through the ground like a wellspring, uncontrolled. In a way, it seems like a wilder version of Aefenglom’s seasons always being opposite the season in the Wilde, similar but more widespread, more disharmonic.
 Fit to Burst The settlement is bustling and full of that otherworldly architecture, spirals and tendrils and vaguely floral embellishments, except... If you look closer, you can see that only a few of the buildings are really made that way. An illusion covers the rest, purely cosmetic, a glamour; it's a shimmering image laid over reality until you look beneath it at the squat, simple houses made by mortal hands out of rough hewn wood or bricks of packed mud. The people are just as disparate as the buildings beneath it all - glittering-eyed Fae, taller, more elongated and insectoid than those seen around Aefenglom, though many of them use glamours to appear more fantastical and beautiful; humans teeming with magic, who use it freely for anything and everything; other bipedal Monsters with rougher, more bestial features than longtime residents might be used to, more in tune with their natural abilities. It wouldn't be a bad idea to explore your new surroundings, though you're likely to garner attention. Unless the world you come from is a more medieval time period, your clothing, perhaps even your hair or other aspects of your appearance are likely to stand out. What will make you stand out even more, though, is not drawing on your abundant new magical powers, or strong new Monster abilities. That shop there requires flight to get up to the second story front door. That home down the street can only be unlocked with a burst of flame. Torches when it grows dark? No, don’t be ridiculous, you can't light your own way? Your hair looks hideous, darling, why haven’t you put on a glamour? Reluctance to use these abilities abundantly and freely garners frowns of scrutiny and disapproval from those natives around you. "We're free here under the Fae folk. They've taught us so much, we never go hungry, we’re never beaten down by the weather." Their words hold truth - their twisted-trunk trees are bursting with fruit, their haphazardly laid out crops flourish in a matter of days rather than a season, rain and snow can be directed at will with just an application of the wild, free magic bubbling up from the ground in rivers. There is a hierarchy in this settlement. The Fae are above all, and can often be found partying into the night with sweet wine and hallucinogenic mushrooms, teaching humans and Monsters to harness their natural talents and the magic of the land by day. Their attitudes are condescending toward these lesser beings they’ve granted their favor to (including you, now, and aren’t you just the most interesting, darling little things?), delighting in spreading their knowledge. The humans and Monsters still seem awestruck by their benevolent masters - a word they mean in the sense of 'teachers' - accepting their gifts, using their magic, and none of them will so much as whisper a complaint. Not when it’s safe here. Not when all is well. It's more than they can say for the lands outside of their paradise, even if things do happen here that the Fae do not like to hear them speak of. Gain the trust of the natives, and you might hear rumors, whispers of a rotting pox hitting other communities far from here, or first hand accounts of how so-and-so witnessed another death just last week, a human woman blew up in town, and some of the Monsters, they been goin’ right bestial. Shh, shh, you didn’t hear it from them! (Don’t let the Fae catch you gossiping. They might just take you and the native both aside, whisper in your ears, let the magic wind its way around your brain until you don't remember any longer what you were talking about or even who you are, where you come from. You were having a good time though, right?) You can try to leave the settlement, to explore the woods that surround it, but you’re likely to be noticed and warned: "You should stay here, make sure you don’t run into any of the unfriendly locals - they don't care for our masters." |
 The Emergence Time passes strangely in a dream. It might feel like a handful of hours, or even a few days, before a change can be felt all throughout the strange, unsettling paradise. If you’ve had a recent brush with it in the waking world, you might recognize the signature of it - the Cwyld. Something in the air feels very wrong, like a chill in the middle of summer, a sudden warm wind in winter; the plant life beneath your very feet begins to blacken in color, with near-indiscernible white lines marring their surfaces, and no matter who you are, no matter the pride you may take in your courage, a shiver raises every hair on your body without fail: Something wicked this way comes. The wellspring of magical energy flowing like a river beneath your feet takes on a new feeling when you try to draw from it, a dark and heavy sensation, oily and creeping. Reaching for the magic, it feels as though you're reaching into hollow darkness, dried up and consumed, and the disparate plants of different seasons, growing alongside each other, begin to bulge grotesquely and burst, splattering an unknown black substance over anything unfortunate enough to be in the splash zone. Possibly even you. Don't pass under the fruit trees. The infection has seeped into the overtapped leyline, and it bleeds through the settlement quickly, much quicker than it seems to move in the current-day waking world. The plant life, with their roots dug deep into the earth, are only the first casualty, as it spreads rapidly to the animals, and then the natives, blackening and tainting everything it touches. The village is thrown into chaos. Fae and any who seem to have Dragon in them are the first to show signs of infection, blackened veins visible under paling skin and white film growing over the eyes. Bodies grow brittle and twisted the more it spreads and settles in. Humans with an abundance of magic are the next to lose themselves to it, quickly followed by other Monsters. While in the waking world, infection spreads more slowly, here, it can be almost instantaneous, the process of becoming a Shade, losing all sense of self. They have no resistance to the Cwyld, and in this dream, neither do you. You're just as susceptible to the infection, and some may find themselves succumbing to the infection spreading to the heart and pumping itself through their veins. Becoming a Shade is a painful experience, a painful existence, as the life is snuffed out of you and your body keeps going. In this dream, you might be lucky (or unlucky) enough to keep your wits about you, to remain sentient and somewhat yourself - or you might become one of the mindless, violent many whose only directive is to spread the Cwyld to everything that lives, including your fellow dreamers. Even if you do stay aware of yourself, it is hard to resist the pull of the Cwyld on your mind, urging you to spread and infect, to leave nothing whole and living. Before your eyes, the settlement begins to die. You can't help anyone who is already infected, even if you know healing spells that work in the waking world, unless you're willing to put them out of their misery before they become a Shade corrupted beyond all assistance. You might be busier trying to save your fellow Mirrorbound, though, as they try to avoid that fate themselves or fall prey to it in front of you. And while the earth and plants and people around them turn black and fall to ruin, any of the Fae who managed to remain untainted simply flee, running from the settlement without stopping to help anyone in need, not even the students who so looked up to them. Note: Becoming a Shade in this prompt is optional, and Mirrorbound Shades may keep their minds or not at player discretion! Infection will not carry over out of the dream. Dying in the dream will put your character back at the edge of the village, uninfected and alive again, to witness the rest of its downfall. |
 Light It Up Help comes in an unexpected, unwanted form. Those unfriendly locals the residents of this village spoke of previously appear through the morning mists, shrouded in clumsy protections like masks and gloves, and practical, non-flashy spells. The group is made up of grim-faced humans and Monsters, a surprisingly cohesive unit of people who look out for each other as they make their way through the woods with torches held aloft. They are hardier than those indulged, magic-glutted folks who suffer now. These newcomers are dressed more practically, for working land or fighting battles, but they, too, have humans among them who can harness their magic. Their witches keep their torches lit, and work closely with their Monsters, helping each other in a way that will not feel unfamiliar. They've come today, they'll say if you get a chance to speak with them, however briefly (they're a little busy to answer too many questions), to try and stop this blight on the land before it can reach their village, some miles to the south. They've seen it before, though never this severe. This Cwyld will spread and spread, until there is nothing left. Best to burn it all down before its tendrils creep too far, before its roots dig too deep. They fight and destroy the Shades however they can, showing no mercy, though their spells are crude and simple, and their Monsters use their natural forms without any showy abilities, depending on claws and teeth and strength to do their jobs. Working together, with simple weapons in their hands, they are formidable. Even if you kept your mind, kept your speech, they will not let you live if you were infected - and may not let you live even if you weren’t infected, just to be safe. You may join them, if you wish, help them burn down the blackened trees or even Shades that were once people - or you may fight them, but they won't relent. They burn the whole settlement down, leaving wide patches of scorched earth like blackened scars on the land. It’s the only way, they say, from their limited experience. Everything must return to the earth. As the settlement goes up in flames fully, they retreat, only remaining long enough to ensure the fire stays where it needs to stay, and will not spread to uninfected forest. For those of you who were completely uninfected and may have thus been spared, they are still unwelcoming and will not allow you to travel back to their own village with them, threatening with swords and flames any who are too insistent. They aren't too keen to talk, but you may get a few answers out of them, the basics - some of their parents originally lived here, learned magic from the Fae, though when they saw the dangers, they left, believing that such power should be used more sparingly, more responsibly. Against the Fae, if at all possible, and against their destructive ways. It was just a matter of time, they thought, until calamity struck, and lo. You just saw what happens, what that much magic can call down in divine retribution. How magic itself fights back against the excesses of those who would abuse it. |
no subject
What an inane thing to say. I didn't name myself. Who does that?
[ Maybe it really is just a stupid dream. But it's quite an irritating and frustrating one, and she doesn't like it.
Her green eyes flash with the spark of her rising temper and Ciri stands up taller, crossing her arms over her chest with a huff. ]
And considering you live on the Continent, your one hand must have innumerable fingers.
I know this is a dream, but even in a dream, you shouldn't be this stupid.
[ Now she's just being mean. But she's very confused! And cross! She doesn't understand any of this, and she doesn't like the way he laughs at her. ]
no subject
[Not that it's terribly important, because, oh, she seems quite upset with him. All of a sudden. Which, for Jaskier in the past and, sometimes, in the present, is not a curiousity, but usually he has some idea what he's done to make someone so cross. She, in fact, seems much more cross with him than with the Fae.
Which is not fair. Jaskier is not as annoying as the Fae. Is she some sort of anti-fan? Rude.]
My dear, we are far from the Continent. Also, I resent that comment. [Though!! Its quite nice to hear someone else speak of it. Wait, was she named after the princess? His head spins. And while she's quite intimidating, make no mistake, he has been spending far too much time with a giant wolf of a Witcher lately.] Oh. You're -- er, this is going to sound awfully metaphysical of me, but it is a dream, yes, but not actually a dream. [He puts his hands on his hips.] Oh, fuck. It's hard to explain. A bit like meeting on a -- on another plane? Honestly, they explain magic to me sometimes and I simply nod.
no subject
Resent it all you want, but call me dear that condescendingly again and you'll regret it.
Being in another world is one thing -- I get that part -- but you really don't remember me?
Dammit, Jaskier. You have magic, you don't even know who I am, and next you'll tell me you're famous for ballet instead of ballads!
no subject
Jaskier clears his throat.]
My, you're awful prickly, aren't you? [Will the knowledge she could kick his ass stop him from talking? Well...
He blinks. He actually takes a step back, adding a little distance between them. Is it him, or is she becoming even more angry with him somehow? It's not the first time. It certainly isn't. But he also... fuck, he's been coddled as of late, and having a voice raised at him makes him wince. After the last fucking month, it's. A lot.]
I didn't realize I should. [If she's surprised at his magic, then she certainly wasn't... part of all that. Not someone he forgot through the torture.] No, no, I most certainly am a master of ballads. As always. [Though her ire does unnerve him, it's serving to leave him confused and curious, too.] Why -- er, how, I should say, do I know you?
no subject
Even if nothing makes sense in this stupid dream, she's still allowed to be annoyed about it. ]
I don't know what's going on, but fine. I'll go along with it.
I'm Ciri. I'm a Witcher.
You know Geralt? I'm with him.
no subject
Of course he's not a fool. (As much as everyone who knows him would argue.) Geralt has mentioned the Princess Cirilla to him. That he was on his way to find her. That Destiny was taking hold, as it was meant to. He was bloody there at its conception. (Destiny, not Cirilla's.)
But there is not a single brain cell in Jaskier's head that could conflate the princess -- who would still be so young now -- to the woman standing here.
It doesn't even really occur to him. It is not, after all, strange for people to know Jaskier. Especially those from the Continent. Who's more famous than Jaskier? Not a single person. Certainly no other bards.
His brows raise into his hairline.] A Witch -- a Witcher? Women are not -- [He stops. To be honest, her glaring is really unnerving him, dream or no. He's beginning to think it may have been simpler, or safer, to go along with the Fae instead.
He rubs his brow, hand on his hip. Yep. He's even more confused now, and Geralt's name being dropped so clearly surprises him. Every bloody time he's had to explain who Geralt is, that he's famous because of Jaskier.] That's, er, funny. I've known him quite a long time and you don't... seem his type.
[Not in that way. Geralt's type was no one, because the only thing he did more than grunt was complain about company. And certainly there are no female Witchers, and certainly Geralt would not keep the existence of one from him for this long, and her expression is really intending to call him an idiot, isn't it?]
Are you -- I think you are meaning to say -- [The gears are turning.] Ah. What?
no subject
[ Ciri looks briefly scandalized, not sure if she should laugh or make a rude retching noise like she really wants to. Instead, she keeps it to a snort, waving away the notion. ]
'Women' might not be Witchers, but I am. You see? [ She gestured blatantly at her sword. ] Trained in Kaer Morhen and everything.
It seems there's something... off about our times in this dream, Jaskier. Give it ten years, it'll all make sense.
[ Though if it really is that she's somehow meeting Jaskier in the past... no, it's probably just a weird dream and a superimposed memory of him? Either way, it's very strange, and she's gone from being quite annoyed to slightly bemused, trying to figure out how much to say or not say. It is funny watching him stammer. Ciri smirks. ]
Don't worry your pretty little head about it when you wake up, all right?
no subject
[Wait, why was that so outrageous? Somehow, between the bipedal animals and the Fae and dreamwalking again, this was the most perplexing thing he had encountered. And as flighty as Jaskier had become lately, at least he could say he didn't really feel... threatened. Not as if she couldn't hurt him -- he imagines those scars prove otherwise -- but that she didn't want to.]
That's -- [He falters.] Utterly perplexing.
[It is a fact that far few people even know of Kaer Morhen's name; Jaskier knows of it, of course, but even he has never been. But Witchers don't -- and Geralt certainly --
He jumps.] What? [Oh, no. What the fuck?] Don't, this isn't a joke. If our times are -- like with the mountain --
[He steps away, muttering to himself. Like how Nilfgaard had invaded Sodden, despite him knowing they had only begun moving towards it. Yet Geralt and Yennefer had been there. And he'd been there, at the Battle of Sodden, in Yennefer's memory, her dream. He frowns.]
Jest all you like, but please, don't belittle me. I told you, this isn't only a dream. [He looks back at her, taking all of her in: the light hair, her scars, the sword. Kaer Morhen.
What the fuck, Geralt?] You're really... her? Princess Cirilla?
no subject
...oops.
Well. It's not like she can do much about it. Despite what he says, she knows in her bones that this is a dream. Not 'only' a dream, perhaps, but still something to wake up from. She can only hope he forgets. In the meantime, she sees she can't just walk away from this now. ]
Ciri. [ she repeats, firm but not harsh. ] Just Ciri is fine.
And yes. I am. I... was, rather.
[ A pause, watching the gamut of expressions having crossed his face in the last few seconds. ]
Come, no need to keep standing around in the middle of the street. I passed a tavern just over that way. You look like you could use a drink. And a chair.
[ With what money?? Who knows. It's a dream, isn't it? ]
no subject
[Even to him, it only feels as if a few years ago he had been at the crest of his fame, playing for a banquet that was sure to go down in history books (and absolutely promised to, with the beautiful ballad Jaskier had written about it.
He's still holding his head when her suggestion comes up. He. Fuck. Yes, he could use a drink. Even though he hasn't drank in -- well, in weeks. Not at a proper tavern. And certainly not with company he didn't know. Yet he... well. It was a dream. Right?]
Yes. Of course, sure. There's -- boy, ooh, there's a lot to take in here. So you -- Geralt made it sound like he'd never found you. [Right. They were going. Somewhere. He walks, if only to have the movement ground him in this sphere further.] But he did? Eventually? The idiot. He's so pessimistic.
no subject
[ She knows what he means, but what a way to say it! ]
Well, I could say you're small. And you don't even have a beard! So there.
[ This time she really is just teasing, though. Ciri smiles, grabbing him by the arm and leading the way down the street. She has some coin; they'll probably take it. ]
Mm-hm. I'm not sure what you remember, but that's right, no matter what. [ Well, sometimes she found him; but it's more or less true regardless of the timing, throughout the years. ]
no subject
Well, he'll let it slide. Since she's a princess.
He stiffens only a moment at her touch, but relaxes into it quickly. It's only -- he's still not used to touch, after all that, and not so casually. Geralt, of course, only shoves him around when he's in danger. And Yennefer's touches are... different. And the three of them haven't --
He should not be thinking of this now, around her. He isn't! There goes the thoughts.] No matter what. [He repeats the words, then laughs.] Of course. Destiny. I still don't think he believes in it. And you -- you do? How refreshing.
[She was refreshing in general, actually. Already, he could see bits of Geralt in her, but she was also not so damn dour. And with a sense of humor! Thank the gods.] So you know me? Am I still famous and handsome? Handsomely famous, I imagine. I would have it no other way.
no subject
The second question, however, gets a more serious response, warm and earnest. ]
No. I believe in Geralt.
[ After all, she and Destiny haven't always seen eye to eye, as it were. Destiny brought them together, but she has no allegiance to her so-called fate, or any of the fates others would have chosen for her. No, it isn't Destiny that binds them together anymore. It's more commonplace than that. They're family.
Ciri's small smile breaks into a snarky grin, as she reaches over to plant a friendly slap between Jaskier's shoulder blades. ]
Famous, certainly! Handsome... well, I don't know. You didn't seem keen on the beard, so maybe you wouldn't think so.
no subject
Yes. So do I.
[He has a feeling he'll get along with her. As strange as it is to have anyone from a time he has yet to experience know him. Beyond, he imagines, his own reputation. But she is a little bitey, which at least is familiar.
He -- ] Ow. [He looks back at her in surprise, and then meets her smile. No, far beyond his reputation, he imagines. Or is she simply so casual? That would be awful good luck. Princesses were terribly stuffy.
His smile belies how satisfied he is with the answer.] Ah, don't be shy. You can agree. [Or maybe that's weird. How would he know?] Hmm, in time, perhaps. When I'm sliding into a more mature image. I'm still galivanting about on my youth.