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

dorian pavus | dragon age

[bestdressed]

I. the setting stars.

"How long are we being asked to stay?" Dorian wonders incredulously under his breath, about halfway through the guided tour around the castle, just as the group is leaving the housing wing. He's seemingly content to speak to himself, but certainly won't mind sharing a few theories with those near him, hush-hush as their guides lead them on.

No stranger to exploring cities at night, Dorian leaves the castle as soon as he's able. He gravitates naturally toward areas with more people, where celebrations are being held and drinks passed around. Not that he's planning to get drunk, by any means; as much as he might need a drink (and he does), he's well aware that isn't the wisest course of action. But he's come to understand that talking and drinking with the locals will likely tell him more about what's really going on here than attempting to interrogate anyone official-seeming up at the castle; he'd know. He tried that first.

Luckily, he is very charming, and it isn't over long before he's chatting with a group of young women tuning up various instruments. He doesn't know the steps to any of the dances, but when they begin to play he catches the rhythm and claps along indulgently, some ghastly bitter-tasting beer at his side. All in all, it's quite enjoyable--or would be if he felt comfortable enough to relax.

Eventually he'll wander near anyone else hanging back from dancing or singing or joining completely in the merriment and ask, "Not from here, are you?"

II. the gods wood

As he drifts into self-awareness only to a blindfold over his eyes, Dorian's mind drifts unbidden back what must be over five years now. But there's no taste of magebane on his tongue, even if he's lately found his magic distressingly weak. Otherwise his captors would have far more than his sharp tongue to contend with. As it is, he curses vehemently and crassly, obvious enough in the sound and delivery of the words if not the words themselves; it's not as if anyone here is likely to understand Ancient Tevene. Unfortunately, by the time his wits are about him enough to retaliate, he's already been left alone with a group of other unfortunates.

Well. Nothing else for it. He summons what magic he can, looking to conjure a flame strong enough to at least see by. Little success there; the resulting fire is barely enough to fill his palm, weak as dying embers. His lip curls in clear annoyance, and he lets the magic dissipate in favor of picking up the nearest pack and torch.

"Well?" Expectantly. "It's not the ending I would have chosen for my evening, either. Let's get moving, shall we?"

III. the coastline.

Kyst is probably the most pleasant and familiar place he's seen since arrival. Dorian has always been one for big cities, and ones on a warm coast are achingly familiar; Qarinus and Minrathous both share similar climates, and the warm sand and bright waves are soothing rather than stomach-churning. He spends a fair amount of time on the beach, quickly removing his boots to walk along it barefoot, carrying them in one hand.

Of course, the city itself draws him in eventually. Predictably he ends up at at least one tavern (more than one; he has a sense for these things), where he certainly won't turn his nose up at a complimentary drink. Perhaps more than one, if anyone he ends up playing (cheating) at cards with is willing to buy. He's careful to only insert himself into games for fun rather than coin, where his novice cheating is seen as amusing and charming rather than an attempt to swindle anyone. He may be slightly tipsy by the time he ends up browsing various shops and markets around the city, many with goods sadly too fine for the meager amount of money he's been allotted. He still manages to turn his nose up at most of them, too good at playing the discerning nobleman even when he has not a cent to his name.

IV. wildcard.

Tag in with something completely different, or hit me up via PM or jarjayes if you have questions!

II

[pauldron]

As the torch tries admirably to push back the gloom, the light passes across the face of a young woman standing nearby. The odd sword in her hand gleams in the dim firelight, razor sharp edge looking all the more deadly for it, but it's her face that should be of real concern.

Or rather, the frown on her face. Her blue-green eyes are narrowed and still looking at where Dorian's hand once was.

"You just tried to use magic."

Because of course that's the most important part of all of this. Which, to her, it kind of is. Waking up lost in the dark, mist-covered woods is bad, but she's armed and has her wits about her in spite of the blindfold hanging limp around her neck. The most important thing--the only important thing, to her, is that attempt at a fireball.

[bestdressed]

Dorian might just agree with her, if they actually had time to sort things out. As it is, he rests a hand on his hip and arches a brow in Lightning's direction.

"Yes?" He's a little testy, as though she's just asked a question to which the answer should be eminently obvious. Which she has. "Tried and failed, clearly, so I wouldn't rely on it." He'll try again, of course. Will probably keep trying until he runs out of mana entirely. But it wouldn't be advisable to bank on his usual abilities.

Of course, she could have something against mages in general; if in Thedas, why not here? But he hopes that isn't the case. That would be incredibly tiresome.

[pauldron]

If only he knew it was entirely the other way around. Magic, to her, is a good thing. A sign of an ally, though that accent is so unfamiliar he may as well be from another world already.

Magic means l'Cie. Like her. Her eyes don't soften, but something perhaps a bit like hope glimmers in their depths when he doesn't deny it. Instead, she raises her free hand and suddenly--light.

It's not fire she calls on, but lightning. Tiny sparks dance between her fingers, leaping into the gloom only to fade away into nothingness. Whatever she'd thought she'd get out of that spell dies away as quickly and as uselessly as Dorian's attempt at fire. Her shoulders slump.

"Dammit."

So much for that plan. The magic bubbles uselessly beneath her skin, Odin so far out of reach she can't even hear him. No magic, no backup. Just the sword in her hand and the strangers all around her, and isn't that familiar? She tightens her grip on her sword, but it's not aimed at him.

"Forget it. Let's get out of here."

I. The Setting Stars

[every_blossom_blooming]

Being gregarious and open and charming has served Nina well. She has no idea what to make of her sudden predicament, but she doesn't intend to be caught off balance. She's holding a drink that she's been nursing for a little while when someone approaches her. She offers a sly smile and shrugs one shoulder.

"What gave me away?"

Her gaze flicks over the man that's joined her, appraising and flirtatious.

"I was trying to see if I could learn the steps before I threw myself into it," she admits. "And no one here wants me to start singing."

[bestdressed]

"You'd be out there, otherwise," Dorian guesses, with a nod toward the dancers. From what he's seen of her, she's been talkative, just as he's been, but has refused dances when offered, just as he has. By his supposing, it's likely for the same reason. He's right, of course; she confirms it, and her addendum makes him laugh.

"Are you picking it up?" He wonders. "I've never been one for group dances, so the intricacies are a bit lost on me."

[every_blossom_blooming]

"I think I am," she says. "I adore group dances. Any dancing, really. I learned court dances but my favorites are reels and mad polkas around the room," she admits.

He's well-groomed and his accent and manner of speaking are polished, educated, precise.

"Want to give it a try? Might as well try to fit in a little."

Zoya always tells her that she is too much: too charming, too effusive, too memorable. But it's worked well for her so far.

III

[misadventuring]

Where Dorian isn’t trying to swindle anyone, Balthier is enjoying the challenge of it with his magic on the fritz. What’s a proper self-respecting pirate to do with himself but play the card sharp when the opportunity presents itself?

It would, admittedly, be far better if he could cast a proper decoy or invisibility spell with any reliability whatsoever. Having to lean almost entirely on slight of hand and bullshit alone is a good bit of effort. Still, it’s proven plenty good enough for him to enjoy small stakes games and cheap beer—even the upkeep of a few drinks for a prospective contact as they play.

As the soldiers he’d been hustling abandon their table for better odds elsewhere, grousing to one another, Balthier leans back in his chair with a smug smirk. “The way some play around here, I was starting to wonder if anyone else knew how.”

Don’t judge him too much for preening. He’s having fun.

[bestdressed]

Dorian's never been one to take such games seriously, even when he is playing for coin, and it shows. He's far more engaged with talking to his companions than he is with with the cards themselves, though he does manage to cheat well once he's got a solid grasp on the rules.

A fresh drink in hand, Dorian slips into a recently vacated seat. "I don't have much by way of coin for you to win," he says, a statement that's almost entirely at odds with his well cared for appearance, the precise curl of his mustache, the fine fabric of his robes, the rings adorning his fingers. "But perhaps I might present some challenge, at least."

He may not judge, but he is interested in seeing what the boasting is about.

I

[galran]

[ Keith almost blends in - amongst the purple garbs of the natives, he figured he could at least stand in the back, back straight and arms folded, and maybe look like he's just a guard at the castle and no one would bother him. He didn't want to stay for the festivities, but here there were more people than anywhere - from the side, he can hope he'll spy his missing companions here before he bolts.

That Dorian catches him trying almost Too hard to blend in isn't as much a surprise. Keith's brows lift, he looks at Dorian, and breathes out a sigh. ]

What gave me away? [ He eases only marginally, a small smile tugging his lip. ]

[bestdressed]

[ There's a slightly amused quirk to Dorian's lips, though his response is nonchalant. ]

I've a keen eye for spotting outsiders.

[ That and he's fairly certainly he'd seen him during the tour earlier, but he's perfectly happy to seem more mysterious than he really is. ]

Like recognizes like, that sort of thing. This is all new to me as well.

[ Perhaps not the celebration itself. He's seen many like it. But the place and the people, yes--disconcertingly so. ]

[galran]

[ "Outsider" is right, but more broadly speaking he'd never had an easy time fitting in. That's how Shiro picked him out, too, now that he thinks about it. ]

Back home you'd hear "Birds of a feather flock together." [ He shrugs dismissively as if he takes some issue with the idea. ]

You don't make it seem like you're much of an outsider here, [ he gestures to the party. He's been watching, catching faces here and there. ] Weren't you the guy surrounded by all the girls?

I

[shikomizue]

He may be hanging back, but Takasugi isn't glowering from a corner. He looks amused enough in his own right, though some of that affect may be due to the distinct scent of liquor that occupies his breath. That glass in his hand isn't his first.

When someone joins him, Takasugi leans towards them, as if having a clandestine exchange. His gaze doesn't tear from the musicians, eye locked on fingers plucking strings. "Seems like everyone's a foreigner." A glib comment - from his perspective, everyone on this planet is an outsider.

"Well - do you like it?" This place is certainly more joyous and friendly than what Takasugi's accustomed to, but he doesn't care for it.

[bestdressed]

"Objectively, yes," Dorian allows. "Though I'd like it far more if I were here entirely of my own volition." But then, he expects that many of them feel similarly. "I suppose my approval hardly rates as important. We might be treated well, perhaps even celebrated, but the truth remains that we were summoned here to be pawns in their war."

Now there's a sentiment at odds with the jubilant atmosphere around them. Dorian raises his cup to his lips and drinks deeply. When he lowers it again, he's smiling, bemused. "But of course, that's merely my perspective. Do you like it?" It's only natural to turn the question back on the one who'd posed it.

[shikomizue]

Ah, someone who doesn't buy the tale that they'll all rise as heroes. Takasugi has no such illusions either. So far as he's concerned, the whole ordeal is a simple case of foreigners - aliens - exerting their power over anyone they can.

Spiriting people away from their own lives, their own wars.

Framed that way, there's no way he could enjoy such a place. Takasugi simply sighs, tongue flicking over teeth. No matter how the skilled musician's fingers dance, the music is nothing but noise.

"And? Do you intend to play the pawn?" He's not interested in the natural flow of conversation, he'd rather hear more of this guy's perspective.

III

[chronosynthesis]

Syrlya is stepping out of one of the stops just as Dorian starts to go in it, paying little attention as he glances over his shoulder with his hand raised in farewell to the shopkeeper (though he walks out without any wares). So he notices a little late that his path isn't here, stumbling to an adept halt and grabbing the edge of the doorway to steady himself before he crashes into him.

"Oh--excuse me."

[bestdressed]

In truth, they're both at fault, as Dorian is paying far more attention to the display in the front window than to the door he's meaning to step through. His mistake, really. It isn't like him to be so careless. Thankfully both he and the person he nearly collides with are able to stop short. Dorian, for his part, takes a startled half step back, putting a little more space between them.

"No harm done," he says quickly. A hand smooths down his robes reflexively as he actually gets a look at his near miss. Just when he thought he'd seen everything. The peoples of Thedas are a varied lot, but none look like the person in front of him. He's instantly intrigued. At least he manages to stifle any immediate--and no doubt rude--questions by first asking, "Are you all right?"

[chronosynthesis]

"Fine, thank you." He inclines his head, politely, and at first just--waits, like he expects Dorian is going to be the one to move out of the way first.

But he isn't walking around with prestige, here, and once he remembers that he twists to put his back to the wall and give Dorian room to come in. "I'd only come for some information about this place."

Hm, actually--"Do you know much about it? The city." World, civilians, anything.

iii.

[exclave]

Arcade has settled just at the tide's edge a ways down the shoreline, brown trouser legs rolled up and exposing very white human legs, shoes tucked safely beneath the coat still draped loosely over his shoulders. He's in a similar boat, maybe. And oh, yes, speaking of, he'd be lying if he didn't feel some temptation to hijack the first watercraft to cross his path and try to escape, but ultimately he has to suppose there's only so much one unarmed doctor can do against literal wizards. And anyway, even at his most optimistic, he'd be hard-pressed to believe that sailing over the horizon would get him anywhere in the remotest vicinity of the western American coastline. No, he's really here. And he's really going to stay.

That, or he actually didn't survive the Second Battle at Hoover Dam and this is all an improbably elaborate firing of synapses before the very end. But, sometimes, the truth is stranger than fiction.

It hasn't been sitting well with him to be dropped straight from the aftermath of one war to the middle of another. It hasn't been sitting well with him to be pulled into a conflict in which he has no stake and marked (literally!) as loyal to one particular side—and seemingly not even for any especially concrete reason. So it makes a little sense, perhaps, that he'd sought out the first neutral territory he was told about. Somewhere to breathe, think, maybe even learn something about why they're here at all.

Well, he's made it as far as those first two. He's been contemplating the third in tandem with the man's approach, which he'd clocked back when Dorian was just an undulating smudge in the distance distracting him from the encroaching surf. By the time they're close enough to make proper eye contact, Arcade decides it's time to say something:

"Hey, say, um—"

At which point the tide decides to swell and a wave breaks with mercenary precision over his tucked knees, drenching basically the entire bottom half of his body and maybe like, a good fifth of the top half.

Arcade blinks away the sea spray that made it behind his glasses and is momentarily so offended that he can't do anything but remain frozen in place, even as the water laps gently at the bottom of his coat.

[bestdressed]

Dorian's plan had been to simply pass the man by. When he gets close enough, it's apparent to him that he's rather lost in thought. As Dorian is more than preoccupied with his own as well, he's content to let him stay that way.

Apparently his approach is enough to break that concentration, however, and he's willing enough to respond when directly addressed--that is, until the ocean decides to make itself known as a third party in a remarkable display of comedic timing.

What else could Dorian do but laugh?

It's not raucous by any means, and he does feel a little bad, but keeping a straight face is simply not an option. "Fasta vass," he chuckles, "but that was almost impressive." Still smiling bright and amused, Dorian at least extends a hand to help Arcade to his feet. "If the next wave is any larger, you'll drown down there."

ii

[agonise]

Bruce frowns. There's only one person who's allowed to be bossy here, and Dorian's looking at him. He was momentarily distracted by the magic and strange language, not lollygagging, although to say so feels silly, like he's trying to prove something to someone he's just met. He stays silent and hoists the pack over one shoulder instead, holding the torch high to see through the darkness.

"Is fire all you can do?" he asks, putting on what's meant to be a conversational tone. It seems important to know if he can do more than make crackles from his palm.

[bestdressed]

Unfortunately for Bruce, bossy is simply Dorian's natural state. As things stand, he's perfectly content to lead the way with a confidence born mostly of righteous ire rather than any real idea of where they should be going. He's begun to consider several possibilities, but an actual plans will take shape more readily once he's walked off the initial exasperation at their situation.

A conversational tone is well and good, but the question itself has Dorian regarding Bruce with an indignantly arched brow. "Hardly," he scoffs. "I've a multifarious range of talents, both magical and otherwise." His lips tick down at the corners as his brow furrows, something more genuinely troubled in his expression. "Unfortunately, something seems to have dampened my magic upon arrival."

[agonise]

A 'multifarious range of talents.' Bruce allows himself to raise one eyebrow in response. The dampened magic is perplexing, but it hasn't reached genuinely concerning territory for Bruce. If it's a war they're meant to fight, their quote-unquote fearless leaders wouldn't weaken their own troops. The simplest assumption is that it's something in the atmosphere suppressing powers, or some sort of adjustment period to the new world.

Besides, he's not suffering from it. While you were studying magic, he studied these fists.

"Good thing you aren't lacking for talent," he says dryly. Surely this is just a chance for Dorian to show off all of his other special skills, of which there are hundreds, nay, thousands. Bruce starts off ahead, calling out, "Let's get moving, shall we?" in a petty little call-back. He's the captain now.

gods wood

[thescarletspeedster]

Only a few paces away in the darkness, Barry stares at the man's hand where the flame had been. "What was that?" he calls as the man lights a torch, throwing his fine features into the light. Barry is sure he looks much less composed, wide eyed and pale after his second kidnapping of the day. He can't seem to access the speed force any better in the woods than the Court, and that isn't any comfort. But this man had done something, somehow.

"What you did with your hand?"

[bestdressed]

Given the circumstances, Dorian can forgive a little confusion. He's running primarily on anger and determination himself, and he has absolutely no idea what's going on. As usual when he's in over his head, he's simply picked a course of action and intends to stick to it. The young man with him looks entirely lost, which Dorian has at least a little sympathy for. And so he is not nearly so harsh as he could be, given his usual patience for questions with answers which, to him, seem obvious.

"Magic," he says, in a tone that suggests clearly might as well be implied. "Not that it was very helpful." And there's the primary source of his annoyance, even beyond their current predicament. "Are you coming along? If we can find a stream of some sort, we might make it back to civilization eventually."