Test Drive #1

[felldenmods]

Welcome to the August test drive—our first in fellden! We're so excited to have you with us.

A few things of note:

✦ Test drive threads can be considered game-canon if you choose. They're essentially in a shared dreamscape and take place between your character leaving their world, and arriving in the audience hall with their faction leader.
✦ Reserves are open and will continue to be until 11:59 PM UTC on Tuesday, August 20th; they are not necessary to apply! They're valid for the first four days of the application cycle.
✦ Applications will open at 12:01 AM UTC on the 21st, and remain open until 11:59 PM UTC on the 27th. The IC & OOC intro logs will be posted two days later.
✦ Questions? We have a FAQ that's chock full of good information! If they are test drive specific, we have a top level thread below that allows for OOC questions to be posted.
✦ The network is available to use! No matter where your character is, their compass either arrived on their person or available in the Gods Wood. Please feel free to include a network post in your top-levels! Once opened, the compass will display instructions on use, such as using voice-commands to activate it. (Apologies for missing including this on the initial test drive!)

All set?

Perfect! Welcome to Fellden.

AS THE MOON RISES. You’ll find yourself just outside the Temple doors, which will be locked if you try to open them. A little rude, keeping you out after bringing you all this way. The thing is, you can hear a lot of commotion in the distance, and smoke rising from the center of a district; you may want to check that out. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire! Except the smoke is not at all something to be concerned over. Instead, people are gathered near a large bonfire in the decorated city square, drinking and carousing, singing songs of celebration; Moon saviors have arrived! War winners! The residents of the city laugh and sing and dance in pairs throughout the square, grateful for those who have come to aid them. Their merriment doesn’t dwindle as the sun begins to set on the horizon, twin moons rising in its place. When you (and other new arrivals) are finally noticed by the revelers, do not expect to be left alone! Flower crowns will be deposited upon your heads, food and drink placed into your hands, while live musicians play loud enough for the dead to hear. You’ll be invited to dance, to drinking games, and offered food and flowers and other items of value. Some may cry when they look into your face, thanking you for becoming their champions during this long and exhaustive war. Hopefully you’re here to enjoy the festivities. Sneaking off is just fine, too, but don’t expect to be let go of quietly; the people of the Moon Temple are so happy to see you! Enjoy the celebration while it lasts long into the night.

THE SETTING STARS. Unlike the Temple, your arrival to the Court of Stars is met with a rather somber greeting, however expressions are relieved, despite any emotional guard that may be up. A gathering of knights, weary from a skirmish along the border they're returning from, pat you on the back and lead you through an open air courtyard. All the gathered people of the Emperor's Court look up from their tasks, giving the passing Otherworlders a knowing nod. There's gratitude in their eyes, but that's all the welcome you'll receive: your presence is appreciated, but growing an attachment is another heartache for those that care so deeply for their faction fellows. The silence is broken when a high-ranking member of the guard gives the proclamation: "Our heroes have arrived! Court defenders, world travelers! Help has come from the far lands to aid us in our battles for our Emperor, for all of Fellden!" From there, the few knights that have not yet departed will lead you through the Court's castle, a brief tour of the most important areas (dining hall, housing wing, guard barracks, and the throne room) is given before they instruct you to rest, because the real excitement begins when the sun falls behind the horizon. Left to drift, you can explore the castle, or venture out to the surrounding city as it prepares for the celebration the Starfolk have in store for the returned soldiers and, now, the new arrivals. You'll be invited to the party that spreads across the entire Court city, drawn into large circle dances, and will find that the locals become more at ease and welcoming the longer you spend with them.

WELCOME TO THE GODS WOOD. Between one blink and the next, your eyesight has seemingly been stolen from you. Or, perhaps it’s more likely that something is covering your eyes? Yes, that’s definitely a blindfold tied around the back of your head, although quite the mystery as to how it came to be there. You vaguely remember a wolf that may or may not have spoken to you, but the blindfold is certainly a new addition to the situation. Once removed, you’ll find yourself in the thick of the woods, with no path or directional indicators in sight. The moon is obscured by the tree line, and the stars above do nothing to light your path; seems like removing the blindfold wasn’t as helpful as you may have thought. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, it’s obvious that you are not alone in this; other people are removing their blindfolds just as you are, staring blearily into the dark of the forest with a similar lack of understanding to how they came to be here. Thankfully, you’ll find some nearby travel packs with self-lighting torches, a few rations, and your faction-provided communicator. The compass, unfortunately, remains broken, which means you’ll have to find your way out of the woods without it. Hopefully your sense of direction is passable! Whether you team up with others, or go your separate way is entirely up to you, but you must find your way out, and the fog rolling in is not going to be of any assistance. This is a Dropping, and the Gods Wood is not kind to loiterers.

DRAWN TO THE COASTLINE. Needing an escape from the hectic energy that greeted you in your faction, an empathetic bystander pointed you in the direction of a nearby transport mirror, which you either stepped into without stating a destination, or didn't give one with enough clarity for the mirror to understand. Spitting you out on the beach just outside Kyst, it doesn't seem keen to let you back the way you came; temperamental teleportation magic. As the largest trade city in all of Fellden, there is no shortage of things to do here! Shopping with what coin was hoisted upon you before your departure, mapping out the city itself to memorize the in's and out's, enjoying a drink on the house at a local tavern where you can get into a mean game of cards with some faction soldiers, or even meeting someone else that seems to have stumbled into this world just as you did. Perhaps you're more keen to the outdoors, rather than the bustle of a large city, wandering away from the city just far enough to find a stretch of pristine beach and inviting crystal clear waters of the ocean; the salty air fills your lungs while the rays of the midday sun are almost blinding against the swath of bright white sand that meets the crashing waves. Regardless of what you decide to do, or where you end up, you're in the closest thing to No Man's Land you can get; enjoy your time fraternizing with the enemy, make some new friends in this neutral land, or stick with those from your own faction to get a lay of the land.

Comments

lir | the last unicorn

[valiantabsurdity]

i. stars

[ In dreams, Haggard’s castle hoped to be this: to start, not a ruin. To carry on, peopled. To end, remotely untouched by misery, the absence of which leaves Lir with a crumbling, exotic aftertaste of hope and dreams. The bards aren’t terrified, the people lack any inclination to spit on their leaders or in their food, moss isn’t fighting a death-prone melee with an avalanche of dust for empire. No one offers to sell Lir's teeth or those of a lizard-turned-dragon-for-profit. People, seemingly of their own volition, say hello.

What is this madness?

Lir walks the castle grounds at a skittish step, cringing stiffly now and then, more for fear that his mouth might forget its natural downturn, if he doesn’t exercise it with careful discipline. He navigates the city and its merry crowds like a cat, jumping from torch light, shuddering at bursts of laughter, but piqued enough to start imposing: first with his shadow, cast on the road. Then, the rest of him follows, not so much infiltrating the bustle, as stepping out of people's way, gently relieving them of a cup of a water, and keeping the pace of clapping with timed taps of his foot on hard stone.

At one point in his one-man quest for audacity, he brushes shoulders with a stranger, his gaze still stitched ahead, where the host of dancers assembles in perfect synchrony: ]

They’re... happy, aren’t they?

[ This, some say, might be shock, awe or horror. ]


ii. godswood

[ Prey, predator, or awkwardly fumbling young man scavenging the woods for an easy gain of nuts, rabbits or poisonous (?) berries. Pick your identity crisis.

Not for the first time, the tatters of Lir’s cape have served him better than those of his reputation: he’s shed the mantle off his back to fold it neatly over the remains of his blindfold, his rations, his torch and the strange steel music box that doesn’t sing, nor seems to have great talent for the task, but which Lir all the same respects for its ambition.

It makes Lir, if not the smarter traveller, at least the more competent tree warrior. Goods on his back, fortune favouring the bald more than the bold, he’s climbed a pine tree (of course), balanced as he crawls on a thick branch (but why), and now... he appears to be... all but caught in a tussle with a friendly squirrel (who is embarrassed).

This shiny, shiny apple can only go to one of them.

Stiff upper-lipped destitution has a way of acquainting (pauper) princes with makeshift survival skills. All of which is to say, Lir isn’t letting go. He isn’t. Vocally, heroically, and with increasing frustration for his fellow combatant, he isn’t: ]

No. No —

[ Except the squirrel looks at him, wide-eyed and somehow adorable even on this, the darkest of nights. Its flimsy whiskers tremble. It makes a heart-warming sound.

And then, inevitably, Lir releases the apple.

Of course the squirrel runs off with it, being the superior hustler, and having infinitely more game — at least, until in its natural haste to abandon the idiot who gave up his prize, it somehow also loses the apple, sending it down, down, down below...

And hitting what Lir hopes is the ground, but inevitably ends up being a fellow person. Ah yes. Luck. ]

Hello...? Good evening? Good night. Good evening, or night. We’re sorry, both sorry. If you’re hurt down there? Anyone?


iii. coastline

[ Where there is sea, there are shipwrecks and fish and mermaids and magic and conch shells conspiring against the soft inside of your dainty foot soles and landscapes awaiting a painter’s doting eye. And unicorns, some haggard princes might think, if they were particularly given to self-awareness or recollection, but there are enough hollow hurts that plague their body from that particular encounter, already. (And Lir is still only one, not yet an anonymous legion.)

His mind doesn’t need more troubles. There’s liveliness in the city ahead that scouting the seaside won’t deliver him. He’s walking on, really, boots and their socks in hand, when of course there’s a distraction.

At sea, waves drag forward a few pieces of white nothing: cotton shirts, when Lir inevitably collects them, the size slim, with no encryption. He stretches them out diligently enough on the sand, so they’ll air and absorb enough of the sunshine and the day’s warmth to dry out.

The plan, starting out, is to abandon them there — at least until he spots a convenient figure in the distance that, hand to his forehead to ward away the blindness of the sun, he thinks might pass for human. No time like the present to exercise his lungs: ]

Good day! Were you looking for these?


iv. mystery door four

( Happy to put up an extra starter for you, if you tell me which of the four setting options tickles your fancy! )

stars~

[direly]

[ Sansa is in a similar state, hanging back but slowly allowing herself to find enjoyment in the festivities around her. However little. There is still such uncertainty in her about this place but seeing people celebrate openly and dance (and not being restricted to staying in the castle or followed by guards) goes a long way to helping her feel less and less uneasy.

She flinches at the brush of her shoulder but recovers quickly as she sees his face and where he's looking. She can't help smiling some as she looks back, ]

They're quite good, as well.

[valiantabsurdity]

[ Beautiful ladies have no business tolerating his conversation. This one in particular has become the architect of both their misfortune, because now she's spurred him on — and he's squinting, tipping his head to the side, canine-like, to investigate the dance.

Look here, now, he can't make a fool of himself. Both their honour depends on Lir's ability to not self-immolate into sputtering or silence. ]

Do you think so? You suppose?

[ Because the pattern of steps is dissolving too quickly to map each one out, and the hops aren't especially high, nor particularly well choreographed — but then, these are peasant folk, not soldiers, and a little variety peppers the sport. ]

I've heard... [ No. There's a truth buried beneath that tongue's slip. ] I've read there are steps, and learned people know them. I've read new dances come from the great cities each season, when they bring in the music scores.

[direly]

[ She's had far worse conversations. This one, however, gives her a simple amusement as she shrugs at his comments. ]

That's all dancing really is, isn't it? Learned steps to music. Anyone can do it if they wanted.

[ She's seen plenty of peasants and servants dance in the streets and roads. She always thought it was harder to be the singer than the dancer. ]

[valiantabsurdity]

But some, better than others. A few, far better than most.

[ The dancing masters, the bards, the performers. The scant few actors of the travelling theatre who reached as far as Hagsgate, only to find their revels scorned and their arts doubted and repelled.

They, and perhaps these men and women before Lir's searching eyes, set in their way more by cunning and enthusiasm than true learning. It occurs to him, heartbeats too late, to offer his hand to the side, just short of touch again. ]

Would you like to try?

[ Two disasters offset each other, says no one, no one at all, not ever. ]

[direly]

[ She opens her mouth in surprise, speechless for a moment before shaking her head. The offer is kind but she hasn't danced in a long time. ]

I must regretfully decline. You are very kind to offer but I am not as skilled as I once was at the steps.

[ That and the steps she learned - so many years ago it seems - are different from those in front of her. ]

[valiantabsurdity]

Whatever skill you lost, I'm certain, surpasses anything I once might have had.

[ All the same, there's the twig of his hand, dropping. A gentleman soldier knows better than to intrude, and a lady's word is his edict. He suspects she might well have taken pity on him: if she were to dance, she'd have excelled, and he would have fumbled and tripped on air. ]

But we're tired. If... you are as I am, then we're tired.

[ A... guest of the land, enjoying the trickles of its hospitality. His mouth pulls in a generous line, wider by the heartbeat. ]

I suppose they didn't expect that.

[direly]

[ Her expression softens at his words, wanting to comment that he's being far too hard on himself. She's certain he must have some kind of skill to be here. Why else would they have brought him here?

But instead, she responds to the latter statement. She doesn't know him all that well to make such comments. ]

What? For us to be tired?

[valiantabsurdity]

Yes.

[ Feasts are a second-day welcome, a proper marathon of dance athletics and learned courtesies. It's a deeper call on personal resources than many a man can spare, so fresh into visiting a new world. ]

This is... livelier hospitality than some travellers care for. [ And hastily: ] But not all. It's well received, I'm certain. And welcome.

[ No point in questioning their hosts, none in the slightest. ]

Unlike... the rest of their demands.

( prompt: stars. )

[thricefold]

[ zita looks away from the dancing to properly address the young man speaking to her.

the way he speaks and the way he carries himself... zita decides a gentle touch is needed, something she's used to doing at this point. this may be a brave new world for her to face, but there are some urges and some instincts that cannot be forgotten or ignored. ]

I would like to think so, yes. [ she looks back to the dancers for a few seconds to see the way they twirl and spin together. she's smiling at the lovely display of arts before her, something about it charming. there are glimpses of poise and grace that hints to formality with some of the dancers, yes, but the creativity and the spirit in the movements can be seen despite it.

when she looks back to her conversational partner, she tries her best to speak with both confidence and kindness. ] Dancing is, more often than not, a way to express one's feelings or thoughts. And the dancing here seems to show hope and joy. It's quite an honour to see this, don't you think?

[valiantabsurdity]

[ It startles him, not the voice again, nor the words, but the pause that divides. Silence that visits, but doesn't linger, even as singing breaks before them in new, reinforced ways. ]

An honour.

[ Or an accident, or the turn of chance. An honour, he supposes, to be alive and bear witness to all of this, and more. There is meaning past the songs of war and meagre triumphs of the battlefield.

He nods, tender enough to betray satisfaction. ]

Yes. I am honoured. And Lir. [ Inevitably, his hand goes up for the greeting. Hello, and a wave, and laughter. ] But I was Lir first.

[ Or was he honoured to receive the name, and so he was Lir second? That, he was too young to tinker with. ]

iii

[galran]

[ Uh what?

Keith stops, looks around, then points at himself unsurely. ]

I... think you have the wrong guy. [ But, he's oddly curious anyway. Lir seemed pretty determined to grab his attention. He looks at the shirt and makes a face. ] Where did you get all these even?

[ Lir might notice Keith is very conveniently dressed in all purple, matching at least the color theme of the Court of the Stars - but if that doesn't lead him at all, Keith was also among those arrivals as well, if he'd have been paying attention to anything like that. ]

[valiantabsurdity]

[ Ah, not the happy owner of this particularly blessed set of cotton sartorial real estate. Undaunted, Lir lifts the shirts again, shaking them to dislodge any specks and strands of sand, letting the sun bathe them in their stretched span.

Maybe the man will take to them, if he didn't at first. No matter his initial hesitations. ]

The sea brought them.

[ Shirts orphaned by tragic natural calamity: a decent origin story, if Lir dare say so himself. ]

I thought someone might have forgotten them in a wash.

[galran]

[ Keith shakes his head. ] Not me.

I can't imagine the people here wash their clothes in the ocean. The salt couldn't be any good clothes. [ On the other hand, what the fuck does he know about doing laundry? ] I bet if you leave them here, someone will pick them up for whatever reason.

[ Realistically, Keith probably should take advantage of this. He's in a spacesuit and undoubtedly doesn't want to be in it forever, but it doesn't occur to him. ]

[valiantabsurdity]

[ The few ounces of determination that squat in Lir's body decide to rally for this, the worthiest of occasions. Behold: he nods. ]

The sea might claim them.

[ Once they've met the water again, luck won't side with whomever looks to retrieve them a second time. He's lived enough of his life in a castle by the sea to know this little: you cannot trust waves. Perhaps more than red bulls, but never too much. ]

You can't know the whims of a breeze. [ But there's the start of a smile ghosting here and there, flickers of in and out. ] Although this one seems kindly. I've seen no wreckage.

[ Unless any ships that ended their journey in parts and pieces at the shore have all rotten away neatly. ]

[galran]

[ Keith frowns, Lir's thoughts lost on him. To him, this is trash with little more than use brought back to them; if they end up as trash again, it means nothing. ]

I don't get it, [ he looks a little confused, but his voice is forward and confident. Rude, if taken wrong. ] They're just a bunch of shirts. Who cares where they end up? If you don't want them to just end up as litter again, you can just throw them out.

[valiantabsurdity]

[ He has a boy before him: he knows now, if he didn't before. A boy and his fattened coin purse, both in need of Lir's soft-voiced instruction. ]

For a man of means, a few shirts won't be the loss of his fortune. [ What's a sartorial commission for a barron, a lord, a prince? There will be men of the gentry who ask for spare clothes made each season. ] But a villager will despair for it.

[ Not in Hagsgate, where riches abound in wealthier supply than fair spirits — but among travellers, who only barter for fresh linens once a year, and save their finest for church Sundays. Cloth and thread are no ]

And think of the seamstress who worked each stitch. Her trouble will be for nothing.

ii.

[unabatedly]

[ The apple does, in point of fact, land on her head. There's a quiet cry of "ow!" that's more out of reflex than out of real pain, though she reaches up to rub at the top of her temple even as she bends to pick it up. A cursory glance upwards is spared and she needs to look again to realize there's a man up there, hanging on a branch. ]

Oh. Hello. I'm-- I'm just fine, don't worry. It wasn't that painful.

[ Really, it wasn't. But she notes he's said 'we' and now she's casting a look about for a second person, though she finds none. ]

Forgive me, you seem to be the only one up there. Do you have a companion with you? I don't see them.

[ But that's because she hasn't spotted the squirrel inching its way down the tree to try to get to the apple that she now has in her hands. ]

[valiantabsurdity]

I meant myself. Only myself.

[ But in the royal declination, like Haggard might have spoken, when his court was peopled with more than the ghosts of memories old and regrets new. It's a convincing lie, after a fashion: certainly, he nearly persuades himself.

He's slow to come down, trickling more than descending, stepping down the few branches that will have him, before the inevitable jump. In the dark, the ground deceives him, and his footing is lost for a moment, until he staggers up, balancing on the balls of his feet with slow, tempered inertia.

Oh. Oh, but it's a —

Oh, no. ]

I'm sorry, lady. I've startled you.

[ It's one thing to upset a man in his journey — another entirely to stay a woman's course, in the dark. ]

[unabatedly]

[ She watches his careful descent from the tree, holding safely to the apple in case he would like it back. When he stands up strangely, Neria initially holds out a hand, but the man seems to have his footing well enough that he doesn't topple over. For his trouble, though, he earns a confused lilt of a smile. ]

There's nothing to be sorry for. Seems more like an accident to me. And I'd rather be troubled by falling apples than thieves or bandits or monsters.

[ But she has a sword at her belt and is wearing simple leather armor of her own, so perhaps she is as all right as she says. Neria offers the apple to him. ]

I believe this is yours, by the by. It did hit the ground so you might want to clean it first.

[valiantabsurdity]

[ The apple. Yes, he remembers it: green, he expects. Or red. Or that strange, striped half-breed that's crossed in lesser orchards, where sour and sweet take watered precedence to a bite of any kind, be it fresh.

He reaches for the apple only so far as to fold the lady's fingers in a gentle clasp around it. ]

No. Keep it.

[ See here, or at the very least, squint: the conviction of a man who might have forgotten every part of his heritage, but still remembers a woman should enjoy the comforts of her dinner first. ]

It made its way to you, despite everything. I think it means for you to have it.

[unabatedly]

[ She looks rather taken aback by his kindness, truth be told, and her fingers close around the fruit that rests in her palm. Neria cants her head and then gives a low dip of her head, taking it. ]

You're most kind to offer it. I had been more hoping that I'd leave this place before I became hungry. Perhaps we can split it? Or, perhaps I can offer to help you leave this place, if you're as stuck here as I am.

[ It's the least she can offer. And it'll be safer not to travel alone. ]

[valiantabsurdity]

[ He releases her hand as easily as he'd captured it, less to free her into the wilderness of the world, and more to reassure her — he is here, he means no harm, he will not reclaim what was willingly given.

The apple can linger in its new home, straddling the bridge of her fingers. ]

I could do with a guide, always.

[ A knight might cut or force his path, but luck, fate and sorcery are typically what direct him. Wit or a good sense of geography hardly come into play. ]

It's wizard who know their way out of any trouble, most often. Are you one?

[unabatedly]

[ It earns him a bit of a good-natured laugh, quiet in the dark, even as she tugs her pack up onto her shoulder a little bit more. The apple, for the moment, is slipped into one of the pockets there so she needn't have to carry it. Besides, she's just as likely to offer half of it to him later. ]

Neither guide nor wizard, I'm afraid. At least, no one's ever called me a wizard. I've been called a witch before, though.

[ Likely not something to offer up so freely but if he's to be disconcerted about magic, it might be best to know now. But Neria does tap the sword at her side as well, and she pulls out a tie to work on tugging her hair back, which exposes a pair of pointed ears. ]

I've no magic to my name at the moment - it's been locked away since coming here - but I'm decent with a blade and I would be good with tracking...if I could recognize the stars or if I had a map. But I'm certain with the two of us, we should do just fine.

[valiantabsurdity]

A witch. [ He has the sense, discovered late, like the roundness of the world, to mime composure. ] You have magic.

[ Some might say this is the very definition of a witch — a woman of magical wonders. But there are witches who visit the village and are only known for their healing trade, for all their wizardry is scarce.

The woman's hands are dark, spidering things in the dark, but he spies none of the telltale scars or stiffness that comes working the ground long to root out herbs and medicines. A witch, but not a medicine woman, not necessarily. ]

We had a magician court. He worked marvels, as did the wizard who followed him.

[ As did the lady who bound both their fates, but this is no time for that nostalgia. The nights are hers to haunt, but he must keep his waking hours. ]

They were both gifted and both unafraid. [ A pause, aborted. ] But I don't recall either being happy. I hope you are, despite your magic. Or for it.