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TDM: May
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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 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.With that taken care of...
• 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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He places a clawed hand on Diarmuid's shoulder, gentler than it should be. His expression softens only slightly and only for a moment. ]
You did...and you served me well. You nearly did it, you were so close to finishing the task I gave you...but then you died. A pity. Such potential lies within you...I wouldn't mind relying on you again. Not as your king, though, that's not a title or role I wanted in the first place.
[ The words are not lies -- Diarmuid did serve him well right up until he died. He's a useful ally and he would like it to stay that way. The fewer enemies he had, the easier his life would be. Less fighting, less work to be done.
It also falls in line with his policy of only allowing three mistakes, though the Lancer has made none so far -- the second failure is to be praised. Praise the failure and how close they came and maybe they'll succeed the final time...In Diarmuid's case, it didn't work. It never did. ]
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And still.
And still, he finds himself lapping up those droplets of praise like a man dying of thirst. Is he really so desperate for someone to find worth in him as their retainer? Pathetic, really, but it soothes that needy, eager to please part of him, now brutally exposed, that he tries so hard to repress. Diarmuid holds his gaze in silence, searching for insincerity in that apathetic face of his- and finds nothing.
Which is why, alien as those claws feel against his skin on his unarmoured shoulder, he doesn't brush his hand away.]
That depends on whether our causes align.
[A reminder- mostly for his own benefit- that he isn't bound by the ties of Master and Servant here. He can choose.]
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His hand slides down Diarmuid's upper arm, lightly tracing the curve of the muscle. An oddly intimate touch, one he'd never seek out himself. Maybe it was to unsettle the Lancer, maybe it was a genuinely affectionate behavior -- he didn't really know which himself. He just felt compelled by something to do it. He leans in just a little bit closer, still no warmth in his gaze. ]
...For your sake, you should hope they do.
[ Not a warning or a threat or anything close to it, simply a fact he feels Diarmuid needs to know. ]
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[Though it would be wise to mistrust Berserker, there's undoubtedly a strange kind of honesty to his indifference. He's brutish and hostile, an overwhelming presence that sets him more on edge with every step he takes closer, every second longer his claws rest on his skin- but Diarmuid gets the feeling that he means exactly as he says. For better or worse. Only a fool would go out of their way to disturb a prowling wolf and he'd rather not find himself on the wrong end of those claws; the smarter man offers his respect and keeps his distance.
Gently, then, Diarmuid brushes him away, letting his own hand linger on the other Servant's wrist as he speaks.]
... like I said, I've no intention of fighting you. [A pause.] But I won't be intimidated into obedience either.
[His voice stays low and even but brims with quiet resolution.]
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[ He pulls his wrist from the Lancer's grip, his expression unchanged. ]
You don't have to stay here, either.
[ It was a little odd to have someone standing so close to him again, especially when he's at all vulnerable. Weaponless and nude, more vulnerable than he'd ever let himself be under normal circumstances. It's because he doesn't feel the other Servant is a threat right now; he has nothing to fear, no need to be completely on guard. ]
Do as you will. Your choices from before don't matter here now. Take the chance you've been given and make the most of it.
[ The words would have sounded better if Berserker didn't sound so apathetic. No warmth, no fondness, just cold indifference. ]
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Do as you will. Your choices from before don't matter here now. Take the chance you've been given and make the most of it.
It might be easy for someone who apparently feels little attachment to anything, be it their past or even their own life, to say but he just can't. Berserker's right. Of course he is; this is a rare, new start for a man who has already died in disgrace twice, something free from the shackles of past guilt and battle. What good is there in lingering in mistakes of a time gone by and a place far removed from here? None- but that's exactly what he's always done and breaking away from that... well, he's in no frame of mind to start.
All around them, the runes pulse.]
... I'm trying.
["But I don't know what I even want to do now."]
Are you?
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[ If he'd been the ruthless Mad King he once was, he would've cut Diarmuid down without a thought. Instead, he let him approach, let him speak, and did nothing against him. To not be immediately murderous against those who failed him is an improvement.
Berserker is not the kind to change, though -- too much about him is broken to ever really be fixable. The emotions that he gave up are nigh unreachable, it would take a miracle to get him to actually feel something that's not negative. To be able to care about someone beyond their usefulness is an impossibility. It's just a fact of what an Alter Servant is -- a twisted, shattered view of a Heroic Spirit, changed beyond what is possible.
He notices the runes pulsing and looks back to the Lancer. ]
... Are you causing that?
[ Curious. ]
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... no. I still haven't worked out how to use the magecraft here. Let me see-
[With anyone else, he'd assume that he'll need to explain himself but in the short amount of time they've spoken, Diarmuid's gotten the feeling that he's someone who doesn't particularly care for the minutiae.
Regardless, he wades closer to the edges of the pool to get a better look at the runes engraved on the rocks. Like before, he doesn't recognise any of them enough to translate- maybe if he'd actually attended any of the classes on offer at the Coven he would- but this time he doesn't have Caster to help out. Instead, then, putting Gáe Dearg between his teeth to keep it out of the water- no easy feat, he quickly discovers- and dips beneath the surface up to his neck. As he traces the runes, his skin prickles with magical energy but the contact doesn't immediately reveal anything new.
Is it foolish to turn his back on Berserker? Perhaps a little, but it's a gesture that Diarmuid hopes he'll recognise as being one of good faith.]
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A vague look of amusement crosses his face at the way he holds his lance in his mouth. ]
... Do you want me to hold that for you while you figure that out? I won't use it against you.
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... this is, admittedly, a little on the degrading side, though. Reluctantly, Diarmuid straightens up, takes Gáe Dearg out of his mouth and holds it out to Berserker. The fabric tied around its tip flutters lightly as he spins it around so that he's offering him the blunt end.]
Don't let it fall in the water.
[He probably doesn't need to tell the wielder of Gáe Bolg that.
With one last, uncertain look, he ducks back under, now up to his chin as he tries to get a better look at the runes. Only this time does he realise his folly; it isn't simply that he can't read them. They won't let him read them.]
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I would never.
[ He doesn't sound offended at all. It's a bit silly for the Lancer to say it out loud, but it's protective and understandably so.
He watches Diarmuid study the runes and cocks his head. ]
Can you not read them?
[ Disappointing, if that's the case. ]
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[- but if he can't read them, he can at least try and feel it out. Again, he runs his fingertips over the rune, hoping that he'll be able to pick up something through touch. It stays frustratingly oblique- but the icy chill that spreads through his body as he persists answers a least half of his question.
With a shiver, Diarmuid moves away. Now he's not only soaking wet but freezing cold too and he has to fight not to let his voice tremble with his chattering teeth. Flawless decision making for the sake of keeping up appearances, buddy.]
I don't know the exact wording but I would wager that they're cooling the water.
no subject
Hm...So magic flows through everything, does it? I thought these pools were just cooled from being in a cavern...
[ He steps forward to inspect the runes himself, deeper in the water than he'd like to be. Berserker's making it a point to keep the Lancer's spear out of the water, like he promised.
Though he's a broken reflection of Cú Chulainn, his knowledge of rune magic remains. It's nothing more than protection in this form, something he doesn't actively use and something that's cut off from him right now, anyway, but he's curious. It's just a momentary glance, running his fingers along them for just a second before he steps away into shallower water.
He offers Diarmuid his spear back, making sure the blunt end is presented to him. ]
Why waste the magic to cool the water here...? It looks like this place is long abandoned.