TDM: July

[moustre]

Test Drive: July

Welcome to 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.
• Applications Open The 24th! These will last until the end of the month, the 31st, with the intro log going on up the 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!
• Test drive threads can be used as samples for your applications!



With that taken care of...

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 Living Forest

It feels warmer than it should be. Hot, dry, dark. The sky above all but black- save for the ominous orange glow against the distant horizon. In the gloaming there’s a resonant smell of decay; of musty pine and sun-baked wood and, more worryingly, the distant scent of smoke, of ash. There’s no wind to speak of, and yet… something whispers. The shiver of leaves, the crack of dry branches- and if you listen long enough, almost… the sound of voices in the trees.

Controlled Burn The forest you find yourself in is still alive- for now. Ash filters through the browning leaves like snow, dotting the path you’ve found yourself on in bone white fragments. Following the rustling leads it to grow all the more frantic, whispered voices speaking without words- or perhaps you simply cannot understand. You feel as though you’re being watched, the tree clusters growing thicker, tighter and- is it just your imagination, or… are they moving? Suddenly before you an old oak splits with a thunderous crack- followed by a deafening scream. Gnarled, blackened hands reach from within the tree, scraping at your clothes, agony wrought through every striation of her features as the infection spreads. Before you, the tree withers as the nymph falls into the dirt, long fingers tearing up the earth as she crawls towards you. Understanding comes to you in stark clarity: the noises through the trees are a cry for help. Before your very eyes the leaves of her once lush hair dries; cracks and breaks away, falling to join the ashen forest floor. With pleading eyes she gazes at you, before her eyes roll back, and she collapses, utterly still. And she’s not the only one; the forest is alive, the very trees reaching for you, roots clawing up to crack open the earth itself in their desperation. Don’t let them touch you, though. The infection spreads quickly. Branching through your veins and leaving your limbs sluggish, heavy, and brittle. The feeling is utterly agonizing, reminiscent of having poured molten lava into your blood. The longer the infection is left untreated, the more, and faster it spreads, the worse the pain becomes. The trees know, they whisper the truth: the only way to cleanse yourself is through the fire.

Creeping Fire Not all nymphs have met such a terrible fate. Not yet, at least. Some huddle together, their branching arms clinging to one another as they softly weep. Others walk willingly towards the distant orange glow with grim determination. Still others implore you with wide, fearful eyes to do something- anything to help them. Surely these new abilities you’ve found yourself with must be good for something. They lead you to a natural amphitheatre; the slow sloping blackened earth sinking into a gully bordered by a high rock wall. The heat is the most bearable here; the area cooled by the towering stone. Wilting nymphs huddle together along with sympathetic faun. Those who have skills in manipulating water are a welcome relief; these tree spirits are desperate for it. But this temporary refuge won’t last for long. The infection wants to spread. Like rabies, maddening its’ hosts and raising their aggression. And where better to draw from than the root of this sanctuary? Where the stone wall rises and provides shelter from the fire, so too does it trap these refugees in… Defend against the infected, before all hope is lost.

Staging Area Past the disease, the horror and cries for help, there is a genuinely quiet place. It isn’t much, compared to how things used to be, but there’s a clearing scarred at the edges with scorch marks instead of Cwyld, with the beginnings of plants sprouting once more. Baby grass clusters in small groups, small stems pushing out of the ashen ground with hopeful buds. Some earlier bloomers already casting vibrant colors to what was once a meadow. It’s serene, it’s peaceful, it’s an area that’s been cleansed by fire and Cwyld kept at bay by Witches at least a century out of fashion, though they don’t seem to respond to outside presences with how focused they are. Those taking breaks from their turn on the edge offer greetings and air worries about the spreading taking root in the forest, but (like the Fae in the first dream, for those who recall) don’t say much else unique, wondering if they’ll be able to return home anytime soon and if this was truly worth the effort. Of course it is, an older one might snap back. In a war of attrition, all efforts are worthy. However, this isn’t the only camp they’ve set up. There’s one not too far off that begins with frost and ends in a frozen area of land, sound muffled by cold and everything from the trees to nymphs so iced not even a dragon’s flame could melt it. Inquiries about this area result in some sheepish looks, and the answer of how some Witches became a little excited at the idea of putting surviving nymphs and the rest of the flora into a form of dormancy and overdid it, a bit.

Comments

[hippocarnival]

Not okay at all. [He sits down, folding his arms over his knees.] I guess it's hard to be with all of... this, but do you want to talk about it?

[She just seems particularly miserable, so maybe it'd help to have a shoulder to lean on.]

[foursakes]

Talking . . . [ for a split second, it seems as if she’s considering it— but ripping the petals gets a little more violent, splitting the root and the bud in her hands into two. snap. ] Talking will make these monstrosities fade away. Talking will mend me.

[ a breath, shaky and tearful, catches in her throat. she’s on the verge of anger, but it pressurizes behind her teeth. ]

Talking will make me feel much better. Is that what you’re thinking, sweet child? Are you hear to save this wretched girl?

[hippocarnival]

[Yuya blinks rapidly, briefly taken aback. Monstrosities...?]

Well... I don't know if I can do that much. [He offers a hesitant smile.] I'm still figuring things out myself. But I can listen if you want.

[foursakes]

[ oh, how she could laugh. so naive. so foolish. what would she do without you? what a sweet thing. ]

Then listen. Listen as well as your heroic ears can.

[ she can’t wait to rip them off. ]

Come a little closer, won’t you?

[hippocarnival]

[Yuya scoots a little closer, adjusting his position so he's facing her instead of looking sideways. There's still a respectful distance, short of accidentally brushing together.

He presses his hands to the ground and leans forward a little, expectant.]

[foursakes]

[ with less screaming (for now), four begins to wail a song, slow and haunting. ]

I must always kill my wondering heart
For I shall disappear in time
These nails blush

[ she curls her clawed finger, a “closer” gesture, while the tip of a flight feather extends to drag across his neck harmlessly.

something might feel wrong. is the song too strong, or does he realize it? ]

[hippocarnival]

[It's like what drew him the first time, an invisible line pulling him forward. He's listening so intently to the words to try and understand her that he doesn't pay attention to the way it sinks into him, and he's shifting closer still at her insistence.]

[foursakes]

No one can see
Now, in the depths of darkness

[ so perfect, so easy. his neck is so, so close to the nick of her claws now, scraping down flesh as feathers seem to cross along his back. ]

This is where you belong. [ her finger, black and curved, presses down just under the soft and vulnerable spot under his jaws. ] A blind death for a blind fool.

[hippocarnival]

Huh? [Yuya blinks rapidly, hair on the back of his neck raising at the pressure on his neck as he comes back to his senses. He sways back an inch on reflex.

He gapes a moment, trying to find a response to... that.] What are you wondering about that you can't?

[Or turn the conversation back around, because he doesn't know what to say to insinuated death here. Maybe he really is in the claws of a monster.]