dagung | TDM: May

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TDM: May

Test Drive: May

All threads can be considered game canon,

the prompts and test drive itself will be

• 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 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.

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THE COMPULSION

[There were moments that she could look back on and feel clear regret and sorrow. Drogo's death, the loss of her child, Ser Barristan and locking away her dragons. She would choose those first as a means of torture, meaning to make her feel regret for all she did not do.

But this was nothing compared to feeling her stripped away of all her composure, showing the moments in her life where her temper got the better of her and she tapped into the ruthless nature that seemed to lurk in all of her family. Whatever others might say, she would call it justice.

Perhaps that was why it didn't show her remorse or guilt? In those moments, she felt none (even still she couldn't say she did.) The 163 slavers, how could she regret that when all she needed was to pull the faces of the children they left as a message to her mind. But it seemed the tunnel would not show that.

There was Kraznys mo Nakloz and the slavers of Astapor, slaughtered by the Unsullied. But what was regret compared to the knowledge she had freed all of those chained and tortured in the city. These were the moments that made her, that lead to her reputation both among slavers and slaves.

But knowing the motives and reasons was one matter, the other was having it displayed so baldly. They wanted to make her vulnerable, to bring suspicion to her and spread the same sort of rumors that Cersei likely had. And certainly, the death of the Tarlys was there as well.

She stepped away, remaining firm and guarded.]

They bring us here for a reason, but look to shame us. I'm not a sheep, I'm a dragon.

THE CAVE

[It was the maze that held Daenerys' attention first. The tunnels all seemed to lead back to the same place, no matter which route she chose or turns she tried to take. It wasn't hard to guess what this was, she had experienced it before at the House of the Undying. Magic was such a pronounced element in this world, it seemed to exist everywhere she visited.

By the fifth return near the entrance, she noticed the signs of life. She paused in her steps, not bothering to try to find a different path again. Instead, she knelt near the discarded and ruined toys. The watches were familiar, but clearly destroyed. She was turning a small toy dragon in her hands when the sound of someone approaching broke her concentration.]

Have you been to these caves before?

WILDCARD

[Choose your own adventure!]

[The tunnels of filtered light here were beautiful. So unlike the harsh artificial lights of the city that she was used to. You could probably call it peaceful if it weren’t for that distant cry and the warped and reflection of memories being played out. Were they real? Noa didn’t know if her own memories were real, nevermind this young woman standing defiantly as if she were challenging the entire spectacle at hand.]

...you look like a girl to me.

Edited 2019-05-18 04:19 (UTC)

[She was a Queen, a Khaleesi but that didn't seem important to clarify. Not now at the very least when so many of her decisions were laid bare to everyone in this world. What were titles compared to her actions and her heart? Neither of them looked very pure, not when taken out of context.

There was a hint of a smile at her lips, trying to soften her features despite this.]

House Targaryen's sigil is a dragon. We rode them from our native land to conquer Westeros. Being a dragon is not literal.

[Sort of.]

No. I don't know if this is even a real place. [The person approaching is a tall, gangly young man in leather and wool, with braids in his hair, holding aloft a sword with the blade on fire like a torch to light the way.] And if it is... I wonder what happened here. [He touches the damp stone of one of the cave walls with just the tips of his fingers, and brings them to his nose to smell for residue.]

It's like people used to live here. [He had another dream like this once, with faeries and flowers and the sweet stench of rot in his nose.] Maybe the Cwyld drove them out.

You think it is an illusion? [Perhaps she should have guessed that? She had faced that sort of thing before. The winding path should have been the hint that she needed that whatever lead her here, it was magic no different than the House of the Undying.] They seem discarded...or forgotten.

[There wasn't a hint of violence, but that meant nothing.]

If it was the Cwyld, would they simply leave their belongings behind?

A dream. Or a- a vision, premonition maybe. [He's still very new to all this magic stuff, and to the terminology to go with it. They have nothing like this where he comes from.

Angling the sword-torch in his hand, he kneels to study a pile of water-logged books, carefully trying to get one of the covers open, only to feel the pages disintegrating at a touch.]

Maybe. If the infection spread quickly, the people who lived here might have left everything behind to get out quicker. I've seen another vision of what it can do, and it's- it's terrible.

Where would they have gone? [It seems strange that there were another group of people, all bearing similar watches that suddenly went missing. No word, no sign of them save this.

She knelt to retrieve one of the small boots, now moldy and reeking with a foul smell.]

Did you? What was the vision of?

I... don't know, honestly. I don't even know where here is. [It's not the city of Aefenglom. It must be somewhere out past the walls, far from the city.]

Corpses, of winged people called faeries. Tied to- to infected flowers, in a meadow. They attacked me and some other people, and if you defeated one, it just... crumbled into dust. Like there was nothing left of the person it had been once.

You are quick to anger.

[ A dragon, she says, as Asura comes to stand abreast of her, his golden scales aglitter and agleam in the slats of light which filter in from between the boughs of trees, his horns a sun-touched crown limned with its glow and warmth. He understands: her wrath had kept her alive, kept her burning, and had burned others along with it. And perhaps, in this instant, there is no better companion than he for the woman who proclaimed herself a dragon: the fae King of Summer, the dragon who wore the shape of a man.

Amid the tunneled thicket and its whispering winds and leaves are his own memories: he is monstrous and beautiful and the Arcadian Wilds burn beneath the shadow of his wings; his opposers becoming morsels in his dragon's maw, their kingdoms falling to him as easily as kindling. ]

Do not allow it to blind you. The tunnel is simply a distraction from our destination.

[ With an easy wave of his hand, Asura starts forward, his steps unhurried and falling with a slow, measured grace. ]

Had you a secret to hide, would you not seek to guard it fiercely? [ She would, he knows, for what little he's glimpsed of her resolve has been telling enough. ] And if employed well, the past is more cutting than the blades of a thousand soldiers.

In any case, these defenses mean we are nearing our 'reason'. [ A fact he notes with no small measure of anticipation, his languid grin sharping to reveal sharpened teeth. A 'witch' he may be, in this realm, but his dragon's features and instincts have not gone from him. ] Are you ready to find it?

That isn't anger, it is justice.

[She wouldn't cower under the weight of her decisions. There were times when she jumped to conclusions or decisions, but everything she did was to protect herself and the others less able to guard themselves. She had been weak once and nearly killed and broken, she wouldn't allow the world would remain a place where others would be subjected to the same.

His scales catch in the light, drawing her attention away from her memories. The gold reminds her of Viserion, which summons a pain in her chest, the emotion of his loss still not fully gone. He looked to be a man, but there was a hint of the dragon about him. She knew that monsters took on the form of certain creatures, was this natural for him or an effect of this world?

It isn't until she sees his memories that she understands, her guard lowering as she looked from the images to him.]

I have faced these sort of visions before. They're merely chains to bind us in place.

[He spoke with a wisdom that she hadn't come across since she first met Tyrion. But there was more about him than that. It was almost like blood spoke to blood. He was a dragon as much as she was, though not literally in her case.

It was easier to feel some measure of kinship and trust, though that was never easily given on her part.]

I didn't think that reason could be so easily found, but if you think we might see it, I should like to know where this path goes.

You are right— [ About not so simply unearthing the truth of the forest; the secrets which it housed. And somehow yet, Asura sounds only poised to greet the challenge ahead of them: ] —I would expect to surmount no less than seven more obstacles before we are free of this oneiromancy.

[ And of the memories which she, the dragon with moon-pale hair and steeled eyes, had likened to chains. But when Asura himself looks to the sweep and spill of leaves, what he glimpses are foundations (the fire and blood which had lifted him up), and it is impossible to think those things to be bonds. Instead, are they not catalysts for rebirth; for change? ]

But make no mistake, we will be free. [ His tone, his cadence, leaves no room for doubt, and neither do the truths revealed by foliage dancing at their feet: no cage has held Asura for long, be it the confines of a cavern (volcanic and deep, the place where he had once been kept by a master, and centuries later, the place where he'd buried the fiend), or the spells shaped by the Autumn court and their mystics (each seeking to suppress his power, perhaps no different from the Coven and their Looking-Glass House). ]

Though... I wonder at your visions from before and what they might have revealed to you, and also...

[ How it is that he feels affinity for her; as though there were some resonance between them, their histories from two separate realms, but inexorably linked by the strength of flame and the renewal which might rise from ashes. ]

Of your place in the world – this one.

[ This land of witches and that which humans would term monsters, even if they were anything but. ]

Seven? [There was at least a number to it, though she was already irritated with one.] What is oneiromancy? You speak as if you know this magic.

[Her chains were the attempt to bend her to whatever feelings or thoughts those responsible wanted her to. How was it different from the Khals that sought to keep her locked away with the other widows or the Mages that wanted her only for her dragons? The context of her memories held no sway over her, but casting things in this light? Looking to shame her? It was seeking to trap her into one state of mind and leave it there.

If there was something good to come from this, she couldn't see it.]

They revealed nothing I didn't already know or feel. My place in this world? What do you mean?

Right here, right now, you're walking through your past. If your present is this world, what is it you intend to do? [ He considers her, then, with a discerning glance, wondering how she might choose to channel her latent wrath. ] Will your path be different from the memories which the forest has revealed?

[ In the distance, the warbling lament of a creature sounds, closer than it had been when Asura first set foot upon the path marked by the awning of trees overhead. But if the cry is startling to him, he does not look it. Chin canted up, he gives momentary pause in his step, eyes falling shut with a sweep of ravendark lashes as he listens (for any other marker of noise beyond the keening howl and the whispering wind), assesses, and saunters forward again, eyes open and purpose renewed: somewhere within the woodland's depths there is a creature in pain, and Asura would seem them delivered from it. ]

Oneiromancy is the practice of altering the dreams of others amid my kind, it can be fueled by either benevolent or malign intent, and though I've yet to decide which of the two governs this instance, I...

[ In this statement, Asura is decisive: ] I have met you, and that is boon enough.

More than that, seven is an exciting number of challenges, isn't it? [ And he grins, looking particularly boyish, his enthusiasm for the task of hand untempered and buoyant if only because it has been a while since he's been so tested by magic. Giving an easy roll of his shoulders, he continues on: ] The conquering of them could be fun, if only you let it.

Edited 2019-05-28 00:46 (UTC)

Does it matter?

[Says the sheep to the dragon.]

What other people say or believe...

You will be yourself and you will have yourself to hold your actions accountable too. That's all that matters. Unless you wish for more than that. [The sweet notes of her voice trails off as she slowly steps down the path. Justine is a lovely young woman but a dark shadow follows at her heels.

Her memories are of a pained and tortured life. She's been used, abused and treated as property and prey. She has been tortured by vampires until only a thin shred of life is left in the tattered memory. She's lashed out at people and can be seen chanting in crazed words, possessed or screaming in her own insanity. Justine feels the weight of the memories play and she hates that her weakness are played for all to see but she keeps walking forward.

She isn't letting this world take away who she is.

Justine glances over at Daenerys.] What is it that matters to you?

It matters when it unites an army against you, when it turns the people against you.

[She wished it didn't, but she needed to only think of Meereen and her response in Westeros to know that stories and opinions could be as detrimental as weapons. She wasn't her brother and had never believed the tales that the smallfolk secretly drank toasts to her or prayed for her return. Cersei would never allow them to know the good she had done.

It was exhausting to think that the stories of her life would carry over into this world as well. More opinions colored by these incidents.

The memories are similar to what Daenerys had known in her life, as well in others. She could see the others that had drawn around her in Justine, the same abuse and cruelty. The look she offers isn't pity but one of understanding.]

My people.

I'm sorry.

[Justine speaks softly.]

But I don't understand.

[She's only had herself and then later in life she had Thomas but everything must come to an end. Lives, histories, countries. It doesn't matter what it is, it always has an end.] I- [Justine's lips press lightly together.] Excuse me for asking but are they truly your people if they reject you?

[As if to accent this question another memory of Justine is played out for all to see. She's younger, barely a teenager and the cruel man in the memory can only be her father.

The next words she utters are soft and pained.] I don't have people.

There are those that follow because they chose me, the others do not know me yet, but I am still responsible for them. Those that feed them these lies are the same that harm them.

[She wouldn't think about the rejection, she would only focus on the good that she could do.]

You have no family?

[Justine gently shakes her head.]

I do not. [Her expression becomes apologetic but it doesn't diminish her beauty. Somehow it accents the sweet shape of her lips and the sweeping curve of her jaw and neck. It's a natural expression for her and one that she wears more often than she should.] So I can't empathize and for that. I am sorry.

I am not alone. I have Thomas but he is not here.

[And one day he will kill her. It's a complicated ordeal.]

[It is hard to not feel something, remember when she went to Queen Cersei herself. She was young, and thought that Queens were like they were in all stories. Cersei was not so. So the betrayal of her family hits home hard. She immediately regrets coming to this forest. It is better to stay where she knows, where she is safe with the Coven.

So when the other girl speaks out of pure anger, Sansa turns. She is unrecognizable to her. And here, Dany is not the only one claiming to be a dragon. There are many here as she is learning. She has even met one.]

You are not the only one here. And yet, they still seem just as subservient as the rest of us.

I'm not speaking of literal form.

[That would honestly take some getting used to, but strangely, the idea left her feeling less alone. It seemed as if this was what her life was leading towards, to emerge as the embodiment of the dragon and to find a home for herself in the world. She didn't expect any of it to be literal.

The young woman is lovely, but unfamiliar to Daenerys. Her red hair was striking, as was her height, much taller than Daenerys. There were no signs of a monster form about her, but that meant little.]

Is it subservience? It seemed we were brought here to help.

[The other woman is striking, but Sansa keeps her distance. There isn't very many she trusts in this place, and it's harder to trust it itself. She has come to find some genuine people, and while she uses their terminology of 'help', not wanting to come off as rude or possibly inciting something herself, she is not sure if she entirely believes it-- as much of a surprise as their arrival was.]

I do not make it a habit of trusting the words of people that have captured me-- intentional or otherwise. [After all she always knew Baelish had ulterior motives.]

I have never known captors to seek and empower their hostages.

[Most others had kept her trapped or chained, both literally and metaphorically. Perhaps she felt more comfort about this world because it made her into what she had always believed she was. A dragon, fire made flesh.

With time, she might even be able to fly as Drogon did.]

You know these captors better than I do.

[Dany has her there. It does seem like this place just truly wants their help. It's why she's even entertaining this notion of being a witch and learning magic. It also helps if she can defend herself, something she knows she needs.]

The Coven has been kind. I am not sure about the monsters though. [Sansa is merely skeptical of almost everything here. No one gives something without expecting something in return.]

I would advise caution is all. [At the very least with the Cwyld.]

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TDM: May

Daenerys Targaryen | Game of Thrones (tw: murder, ruthless executions)

THE COMPLUSION

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the cave

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compulsion!

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compulsion

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