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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. |
no subject
That's where Caster bites tenaciously into. That's his cue ]
Stronger? Nah- [ He shakes his head. A bold claim for Berserker is clearly the more powerful of the two in terms of physical strength and endurance--- and runes no longer work, the spear is still sealed, so one true asset Caster could have is gone. But there are many definitions of strength. ] Sure, you got more power I give you that. But that's all- rest is hollow.
[ RIP Caster, it was nice knowing you. But hey, what is self-preservation instinct? Does he even have a reason for ensuring his continuous survival in a dream? He will do his best to keep his head high up and take the challenge head-on ]
Incomplete.
[ Again, change of subject, refocusing their vicious barking on Berserker is easier than dealing with- whatever he happens to feel ]
no subject
You still didn't answer me... [ He leans down closer, his grip tightening. ] Your barking gets louder and louder the more I dig at this. It's been eating at you, hasn't it? You cover it up with confidence and try to pretend it doesn't bother you, that it's just something that happened.
If you keep burying it and covering it up, you'll break if you're confronted with it again. I hope I'm around to see that breaking point. The unbreakable Cú Chulainn, shattered by pointless pride.
[ And with that, he lets go of the other Servant and tries to push him back as he does so. ]
1/2
People do lie to themselves. But this would be the most literal sense of that phrase, also pointless.
He hates, really hates, how much this threat sounds like a promise. One could argue that the pride is a big part what holds his together (if you take pride in all of your life, it makes the bad turns and bad decisions worth it. Look at it as a whole.) ]
Shut up-! [ Yeah, he is barking, how accurate this insult is ] I lived my life facing it with my head up, to the fullest, with everything it brought-- good and bad, joyous and sad. I never ran, I never gave up- Can you say the same?
[ No regrets... Yes? Even if he was to be broken he can't allow faltering before this man, before this reflection. They both personify different aspects, different circumstances- ]
2/2
Caster steps closer one more time. Flames suddenly enveloping his hands as he is the one to grab at the other man this time. No "Ansuz" rune, just a pure magic flame. Fire intense and burning. He always lived his life like a candle burning on both ends. To be a star that shines brightly on the sky and then disappears- what else is that star than scorching flame.
And he still has enough of it to burn again if he has to, burn both of them. ]
RIP Caster
[ Who would want to be this empty, broken person? Certainly not Berserker. Constantly seeking a place to die, running from battle to battle in hopes of it being his last. No joy, no light, no warmth; just emptiness and ruthless killer instinct left behind. A body honed for strength and survival, a soul turned black and cold. Hollow, unfeeling, and merciless. No one showed him mercy, why should he ever show it to anyone else? A weakness. Mercy was the undoing of Cú Chulainn, after all -- sparing Queen Medb was the reason for his death. ]
You will regret this.
[ Somehow, some part of him knew it would turn to this -- rarely do Alters and their lighter sides get along. A fight was bound to happen, it was just a matter of time. Unfortunately for Caster, this is a final judgement in his mind. He's now an enemy and an enemy is meant to be eliminated, nothing more.
The flames lick at his skin, burn enough to blister it, but it doesn't stop him. Even without his normal durability, it doesn't matter -- he still has no sense of self-preservation and injury will not give him pause. Gae Bolg in hand, he pulls it back and thrusts it towards Caster's stomach. It's not a killing shot, no, because he wants to hear his lighter side die. He wants to taunt him more and let his unfeeling, blood-covered face be the last thing he sees, for his words to be the last thing he hears.
Petty? Of course, he is still Cú Chulainn, after all. ]
here lies... [cw: violent imagery]
[ Hm."I never wished for this!" Makes sense really.
The impact pushes the air out of Caster's lungs, followed shortly by vivid, grievous pain. His expression wrinkles with a snarl as the spear bites into his side, blood pouring through the gash-- man, this is really a pettiness contest, not even a killing blow just this? In old tales they said when Gáe Bolg pierced it expanded into thorns and needles and barbs- the reality is, of course, different, simpler (and Berserker's spear is naturally spiky), but nonetheless, that description is a good approximation of how it feels like.
Some morbid part of his brain notes distantly, that this is similar to how he died the first time. Warrior's pride stifles the scream, cuts it down into a pained grunt, followed by a wheeze turning into heavy tormented breathing. The flames falter and die down for a moment. Fight for the death, never stop, but then he meets Berserker's gaze - he made him felt something, even if it was blinding rage, that's... new - guess it makes them even. Unlike Berserker's his fury burns intensely, but can be short. As it was ignited it is now simmering-- the foolishness of the whole ordeal realized too late. ]
Ha.. ha-- it couldn't be any different, huh? The moment this started-- [ -it was decided how it ends. A nasty bloody cough, followed by mental fuck you to inevitable destiny. They are two sides of the same coin, and that at the most literal means: they can't see face-to-face.
Berserker touched not just on a "sore spot" but on a type of pain that Caster has always perfectly buried and forgotten about. Touching that wound with ferocity (and knowledge) that only his darker side could made Caster not examine it but fight back instead. If he's not ready to admit to himself it exists, how could he to this man? Risk he feasts on that vulnerability even more. Twist the knife, torment him, someone else would cave in or run away, but Caster? He would rather die than back-off. And so he does. This is where this pride brings him. Skewered by the spear he once wielded.
——It's been eating at you, hasn't it? You cover it up with confidence and try to pretend it doesn't bother you, that it's just something that happened——
Yet even despite the pain, Caster manages to bark a laugh, short and coarse and mean. His voice strains, but lilts upwards, like there's something funny to this near-evisceration. ]
But see, I don't mind dying-- Better try and kill me properly or-- I'll kick your ass...
[ Yeah, sure, threat spoken by man barely standing upwards. ]
no subject
This battle was decided the moment you started it.
[ He leans in a little closer, a vicious, toothy smile spreading across his face. Defiant to the very end, just as he expected. It makes this all the more satisfying, hearing him bluster and fight despite the inevitably of the ending. ]
The only reason I didn't kill you in one blow is because I want you to suffer. [ He twists the spear to widen the wound, to sharpen the pain, to do more damage. ] You can't even stand on your own.
[ Now to end this. He pulls the barbed lance free and straightens up once again. There's no joy in his expression, the anger gone. There's no satisfaction at all, nothing. Not even this victory can make him feel any kind of joy or even satisfy him. An empty void is all that remains.
The only thing he feels is resentment because he doesn't feel anything about this. The thrill of the fight, the satisfaction of victory, both things ripped from him by the circumstances that made him. A proud warrior now nothing more than a killing machine. He resents Caster for still having that, resents that he can never have it again. Bitter blackness swirls inside him that he can do nothing with. A useless feeling that will never be resolved. ]
Try to fight me now, Caster...I know you can't. Bleed out and die or beg me to finish you off, I don't care either way. Who was stronger here was never a question...
no subject
It might be a Dream but doesn't make the pain and experience of dying any less real. He's not going to wake up bleeding up on the Coven's bed, right? If he does, janitor's day is going to get ruined, oops. ]
No, you started it— [ Defiant till the very end.
Then he realizes it. The creature changed its form for Berserker, it was meant to disturb and affect him. It worked on Caster for obvious reasons, but could there be more to the questioning and prodding and digging that followed later? Was there... curiosity of a different kind? ]
Were you trying to— figure out how you feel about it through me—? [ You're so unfeeling you don't even know how you should feel about killing your son again, right Alter? Wrong question probably, Caster doesn't know how he feels about it either, he doesn't want to know. ] —hah, you... chose a shitty way to do it.
[ That's where his consciousness begins to fade ]
no subject
Even if I were, would I tell you?
[ He puts his hand between them, against his wound. He dogs his claws in, gripping tighter and the torn and ripped flesh. Remarkably cruel, but his lighter side earned it for pressing too far. He doesn't want to think about it because it's complicated. It needed to be done, it had to be done, it was the only way that could have ended. A foregone conclusion. Should he feel anything for it? Probably. Can he? No. Nothing but the emptiness of apathy. A cruelty of his existence -- he can't experience anything, any of his memories the way they should be. Irreparably broken by a wish on the grail. ]
... You won't even admit how you feel about it. [ He pushes Caster away from him with his bloodied hand. ] So die, choking on that feeling.
wraps this into a neat bow
This was not his first time to traverse a strange Dream like that, last time it happened, most of the people he encountered there were as real as him. Which might be an opening for curious implications later— Later. Later.
Right now Caster figures, he won't be getting back to sleep any time soon. Time to aggressively distance himself from what the Dream brought, that's what the plan really is.
And in one fleeting moment as shadows give way to light of the morning he might find what his answer would be. ]