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Entry tags:
September 2022 Test Drive Meme
SEPTEMBER 2022 TDM
INTRODUCTION
Welcome to Folkmore's monthly Test Drive Meme! Please feel free to test drive any and all characters regardless of your intent to apply or whether you have an invite or not.
All TDMs are game canon. You can choose to have your TDM thread be your introduction thread upon acceptance or start fresh. Each TDM will provide a scenario for how characters arrive in-game that particular month.
Playing TDMs will allow characters to immediately obtain canon items from homes especially weapons or other things they may have had on their person when they were pulled from their worlds! There will always be a prompt that provides some sort of "reward" to characters who complete certain tasks.
Current players are allowed to have in-game characters react to TDMs via the Network or make a log with the prompts. Current players are always encouraged to tag new people on the TDM!
TDM threads can be used for spoon spending at any time by characters accepted into the game.
Content Warnings: mood-altering substances.
What a Wonderful Harvest
"TRICK."
"TREAT."
What a Wonderful Harvest
It's harvest season in Folkmore. Apples, squash, potatoes, onions, peaches, sweet corn... all manner of crops are ready to be gathered, and golden fields fall willingly before the scythe. The air has a chill to it that you can mostly ignore in the sun but runs deep when you stand in the shadows.
After arrival you will find yourself out in said fields, maybe a little disoriented but not in any danger. It's peaceful.
In the farmlands you might be able to hear music floating on the wind. Follow it, or just wander by accident, and you'll find yourself coming upon what looks like some kind of costume party: people dressed up in cloth and vegetables - mostly gourds as masks - are singing and dancing around an enormous pole surmounted by the biggest Jack-O-Lantern you've ever seen.
The pumpkin people seem shy, but they won't turn you away if you wish to join their celebration - there are other Star Children like yourself here, and you might feel a little more comfortable with them. At least you can see their real faces. You can drink some apple cider and carve some pumpkins yourself if you like, or help out by husking some corn.
At some point, you will become aware of the fact that the dancers have stopped, and the object they've been dancing around has moved. The Jack-O-Lantern is looking at you.
The pumpkin king leans down, eternally smiling.
"Trick or treat?" he asks you in a deep voice. You'll have to pick one!
"TRICK."
The partygoers all watch you carefully. The lord of the harvest appears to think for a moment, then nods his massive head. One of the veggie dancers approaches you with a tray upon which are five cups of cider.
"Pick your poison," you're told, and you can only hope it's not literal!
Four of the cups of cider will have no effect whatsoever. But the fifth?
That fifth cup of cider makes you feel more social. Less reserved. Downright friendly, even. You want to talk and joke with people even if that isn't normally something you'd do. You might even join the vegetable dancers for a spin, and drag someone else along with you! Your judgment isn't quite impaired, but your inhibitions are definitely lowered. Might be a quick way to make some new friends, though!
"TREAT."
You are offered a large basket, held so that you cannot see inside. After some fumbling, you pull something out. What is it? It's an envelope. Or a cassette tape. Or a photograph. It might be the mixed tape you created for your high school crush, the poem you wrote about your broken heart, the letter you never mailed to your estranged father. It's something personal that is connected to someone from home somehow. As you hold it in your hands, you will feel an irresistible urge to explain it to the person next to you no matter how embarrassing or painful it might be. You can only hope that they aren't a colossal dick about it.
Content Warnings: aggressive dogs, decapitated spectres, potential violence.
GET AHEAD
GET AHEAD
The sun sets earlier and earlier every day, but that doesn't mean there's suddenly nothing to do! The warm lights of homes all over Folkmore welcome people inside for parties. Of course, the Spirit People of Folkmore are rarely humanoid, so you may find yourself at a dance for frogs or a cocktail party for round fuzzy critters with giant eyes. Regardless of what kind of creatures you wind up partying with, they are excellent hosts!
When food has been had and drinks are flowing, someone suggests a time honoured tradition: the telling of ghost stories.
The guests take turns, spinning tales both familiar and not. One such tale is that of the Horseman and his Hounds.
This, the storyteller insists, is a true tale, and is as follows:
Folkmore is home to many Spirit People, and many other creatures besides. While most of these wish only to live their lives, there are certain powers that Thirteen leaves to their own devices, no doubt for reasons all her own. When the autumn harvests come and the leaves burn with colour and fall to the ground, the dominant spirit of lonely places is the apparition of a figure on horseback, without a head. Some versions of the story claim the horseman's head is carried before him on the pommel of his saddle, while others say instead the spirit carries a lit Jack-O-Lantern in place of it... and wishes to find a more suitable replacement. No matter the variation, the rest of the legend is the same: in autumn, on lonely roads, unlucky travelers will hear the baying of hounds. Moments later they will see the Horseman upon his stallion, and then the unholy troop will pursue the hapless travelers across hill and valley.
Some tales are told of Star Children fighting off the spectral hounds and challenging the Horseman to a fight, with varying levels of success. All are in agreement, however, that the sure method of survival is to escape over running water. Easy enough in some parts of Folkmore... less so if you happen to be caught out in the desert of Cruel Summer.
All parties must end, and this one does too, which means you now have to make your way home. Not that you're scared or anything, but maybe it's wise to walk with someone else tonight...
Not that it matters. Ultimately you and your companion will find yourself on a lonely stretch of road somewhere, and just as you've managed to convince yourselves that nothing out of the ordinary is going to happen you hear it.
The Hounds.
Turn and you'll see them, dark and sleek, and beyond them their infernal master. Atop a gleaming black stallion, the Horseman is gigantic in height and muffled in a cloak.
Whether you run or stand and fight is entirely up to you. As if to make it more of a fair fight, there are weapons hidden off the road - stumble into a ditch and you might find a rifle or a sword. The Hounds have very sharp teeth but they themselves cannot be injured - if struck they simply turn to black smoke and vanish. The Horseman cannot be killed - he has no head! - but if you fight him to a standstill he will reward you with the gift of something from your homeworld. This can be a weapon or magical item.
If you manage to cross a stream or a river, the spectres will vanish with howling and laughter.
ODDS BODKINS
You're likely to be shaken up after your encounter, so it's relief when you see that there's a bonfire lit not far past the water you've crossed. Perched all around it are a bunch of different owls, many wearing hats. They all swivel their heads to look at you before they hoot and gesture for you to come near. There, set up to one side of the bonfire, is a long low table laden with drinks in many different colours and little cakes and cookies. You always thought owls ate mice, but whooo's to say? Hoo? Get it? On another low table are supplies for patching people up in case your fight with the Horseman got a little intense! The owls don't have hands, but maybe there's a kind stranger nearby who'd be willing to help you? Or maybe you just want to talk to someone who has their head on right!
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[ she gives him a wry smile. ]
That and I'm not sure exactly how we defeat a man with no head, but swords are generally effective on most mortal-ish things.
[ that wasn't even a short joke, she's being practical. and clearly was watching him fight. none of this seems to have her ruffled, she's not even breathing hard. ]
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[A quick nod and a smile in turn.
Yeah attacking a creature with no head will be interesting. If it can survive without a head, it makes Orym skeptical that it'll be easy to stop him. What's ever easy anyway?] Me neither. Guess we'll find out.
[He steps back, putting a bit of distance between them, if they're going to launch a two prong strategy here, but he does call out,] I'm Orym, by the way. [Just in case they die. It's better to know the name of the person he's fighting beside.]
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[ she gives a little shrug. ]
Most things die if you make enough holes or, barring that, render them into small enough pieces.
[ she goes to stand right in the middle of the path. someone may be planning on playing chicken with a rather frightening horse. ]
Well-met, Orym. I'm Sophie.
[ she is not even remotely worried about dying. if anything, she still seems to be having fun. it may become apparent when the rider is nearly upon them and she is suddenly a large black panther, springing forward to swipe at the horse with an enormous clawed paw. ]
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[...and she's a panther. Orym somehow manages to not let himself get distracted by this transformation and focuses on his part of the plan. He watches the horse rear back to avoid the panther that is Sophie and takes his chance.
He springs up, fast, higher than someone his size probably ought to be able to jump, sword leading as he crashes into the horseman, blade sinking into his torso. Orym uses his momentum as well as the horse's unsteadiness to knock the rider down and off his mount, tumbling with him, sword coming free as they both fall. The halfling tumbles but rolls immediately to his feet.]
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by the time the halfling is back on his feet, the panther has pinned down the horseman. and then the panther isn't a panther anymore, it's a smallish but much
heavier and more difficult to dislodge dragon. like the panther, it's black, but this isn't the kind of black dragon orym may or may not be familiar with from exandria. wrong head shape, different neck, completely different sheen to the scales.
in any case, it sure is heavy enough to keep the horseman down, and sophie just keeps sitting on him until laughter from nowhere rings out around them. ]
Fair enough, little ones. You have each earned a boon.
[ how is the horseman talking? who knows, it's folkmore. but apparently they win, and there didn't even have to be any flesh ribbons. ]
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[Orym is already halfway to Sophie, quite ready to start the slashing when he hears the laughter and the voice that follows.
He looks to Sophie -- who is a dragon now, and sure, okay, that's a hell of a use of polymorph -- before frowning.]
This was some sort of test? [He does not like that. It feels like being toyed with, and he is not a fan.] ...what sort of boon?
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[ and sophie is back to being a human(?) again, fully formed and standing to one side of the horseman, who stands and brushes off his cloak. her brow is furrowed, and she chews her lip idly as she thinks. ]
I would like my soul. Not in my body, though. Separate. Perhaps as an eidolon?
[ the horseman laughs again. it's a disconcerting kind of laugh. then he reaches into his cloak and produces a figurine a foot tall that looks like a tiny gold version of sophie, except in skirts and a cloak. she takes it as though this is exactly what she expected. ]
Shaped of Onyx, courtesy of Manfred.
[ he turns to orym. meanwhile, sophie's eyes have gone very wide and shocked, but she says nothing, just continuing to stare at the figurine. ]
And you?
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Me? Right...
[A frown now before he comes out with.] My shield.
[It's said almost skeptically, though his skepticism disappears entirely when the figure produces the enchanted sentinel shield from its robes and hands it over. Orym takes it and looks it over, turning it in his hands, checking the weight. It's his shield, no mistaking it.]
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That's a lovely shield.
[ once they've been given their boons, the horseman gives a little bow, remounts his horse that is apparently absolutely fine, and rides away. sophie glances to orym and gives him a small, wry smile. ]
Well, this all got rather personal rather quickly, didn't it. Go ahead and ask, you won't offend me.
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[He moves in a practiced motion, slinging the shield over his back and then doing the same with the sword he snagged from the side of the road. It's not his sword, but it'll clearly do in a pinch.]
And that's a really nice... soul?
[So yes, he offers a smile in turn.] Do most people keep their souls in golden statues, where you're from?
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No, not at all. In fact, I'm quite curious about the circumstances mentioned. But the short version is that where I'm from, there's only one soul per birth, and I'm the twin who lost the soul coin-toss, which means my sister was essentially responsible for both of our salvation or damnation, and I cannot commit either a sin or an act of grace. All very literal.
In any case, what he said means that at some point in the future my sister dies and my brother has apparently taken up my father's work of turning souls to alchemical gold.
[ just in case orym was worried that his life is complicated. all of this comes out very matter-of-fact, as though nothing about it is particularly extraordinary. ]
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That seems like an unfair thing to leave to chance. [Where a soul lands, he means.] But I guess life isn't exactly a fair thing, is it?
[He's never had to wonder where his soul was, at least. He's never considered sin or grace; he's always just tried to do the right thing for the people around him. He holds the figure back out towards her.]
So your soul has been turned to gold. What does that mean for you? It doesn't hurt, does it?
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Life is absolutely not a fair thing. And no, it doesn't hurt at all. This isn't mundane gold, it's alchemical gold. Miraculous, in other words. I'm almost positive that I could...use it to undo a mistake I made. But that will take some consideration. Luckily, I have plenty of time.
[ she's a bit worried about the version of her who has to live with what christine did, but that's not her anymore. ]
I've never seen anyone else fight quite the way you did. Most swordsmen have a different sort of grace entirely.
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Time is good. It's better to make sure you know what you want to do and how to do it, if you have the luxury of time.
[Sometimes circumstance isn't so kind as to afford that time.
His smile resurfaces at the mention of his fighting style.]
I'm part of the Air Ashari. We learn the Zeph'aeratam, to fight like the wind and the air, to flow and rise and fall.
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[ she smiles, because she'd much rather be talking about fighting than her questionably obtained soul. ]
Zeph'aeratam. What a lovely word for a lovely style. It looks like dancing. Who are the Air Ashari, though? I'm probably from an entirely different world than you are, just to get that out of the way.
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He smiles at the question.]
I've heard that, that we're all from different worlds. It's a lot to wrap my head around. But, right. In Exandria, there are certain places where the elemental planes and the material planes bleed into each other. The Ashari are the peoples who guard these places. There are four tribes, each caretakers of one of the four elemental rifts. Earth, Fire, Water, and Air.
no subject
[ man, what is it about exandria that so many people from there end up here? ]
Oh, I see. That makes sense. We have something slightly analogous, though it's more emotional than elemental. Have you ever been to the plane of Air?
[ she tilts her head slightly to the side, glancing upward like she's attempting to summon a memory. ]
If I'm remembering what's been mentioned correctly, this place is somewhat akin to your world's Faewild, in terms of capriciousness. It's not all that strange to me, just slightly more...volatile than my homeland.
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[He wonders if he knows any of them, but what are the chances that he'd know someone just because they're from the same realm as him.]
I've been to the edge of the rift and just inside, but that's it. My duties were to guard the Voice of the Tempest -- our leader -- so I went where she went. The elemental planes are dangerous places.
[The mention of the Faewild certainly gets his attention.] If this place is like the Faewild, then I better stay on my toes.
[He's always on his toes.] What do you mean more emotional than elemental?
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[ she gives a little shrug, because what the heckity, people. sophie is used to having a very small social world. ]
What's it like? Just...everything is sky? Or wind, if your leader is the Voice of the Tempest?
[ she sounds completely fascinated by this, if not particularly concerned with danger. this woman does not seem to understand 'danger'. ]
That's what Caleb said, but I don't have a basis for comparison. It's...mercurial, here. Things change often and without much warning, and you should be wary of free food and plants that weren't there the day previous. Oh, and if you have any magical abilities, some things can take them away from you.
[ she did not enjoy that, nope not at all. ]
I mean...[ give her a second, here. ] For example, Hell is a real place, a realm--like your planes--but it is also a place and type of power. Here, perhaps it is better to just demonstrate.
[ she holds up her free hand, and what looks like a ball of threads of red light blooms in her palm. ]
Don't touch it directly, just bring your hand close like you would with heated metal.
no subject
Sky and wind, storms of many different kinds. There are structures inside, but I couldn't tell you what they look like, only that there are stories of them. Elementals live there, but other sorts of creatures too.
[He's lived beside it all his life. Another nod at the further information. Watch out for free food and drink. Got it.] I'm not much for magic, aside from this... [As he says this, he holds out a hand and a small blue cornflower sprouts and blooms from within his fingers. He offers it out to Sophie.
And then well, then he's more concerned with Hell than flowers. his eyes widen at the strange ball of threads and light that appears in her hand. He does as he's bidden, reaching out to not quite touch it.]
no subject
It sounds wonderful.
[ she always did enjoy being a thing that can fly. then he sprouts a cornflower from his palm, and her smile at it is small but the joy in her eyes is far more obvious. she takes it and sits it behind her ear, weaving a bit of hair around the stem so it won't fall. ]
I would say that's a lovely form of magic.
[ the power of hell, however, is not very lovely. once his hand is close enough, orym will be able to feel it--possibly as magical power, because it is that, and strong stuff, but more as hate, as fear, as the insidious idea that everything is pointless, that the motions of life are sick and stupid and all-consumingly pointless. it wants him to believe its truth, wants him to taste hate and see the world red-tinted and awful.
she only leaves it in her palm for about a minute if he doesn't pull away before then, because she knows what it feels like. she's feeling it too, because she's summoned it out of herself, but she's used to bearing it. ]
That's why you shouldn't touch it, and what I meant about an emotional plane. In the Pit, that's all there is, that feeling and that power and the things that suffer in and are made from it.
no subject
And then all smiling and flowers and joy are forgotten like they never existed at all. Orym audibly gasps, green eyes going wide as he stares as the first brush of those emotions race through him, cold and dark and terrible in a way that he doesn't know how to cope with.
Orym has known pain and suffering, known grief so heavy it nearly crushed him -- but this despair, this utter hopelessness and despair about the reasons he or anyone would continue even bothering to draw their next breath.
He doesn't pull his hand away, but by the time Sophie dispels the sphere, there are tears gathering in Orym's eyes as he looks back up towards her.]
That's... that's terrible. So much hate and despair.
no subject
Oh, Orym, I'm sorry. I didn't think--
[ she takes both his hands in hers and squeezes them gently. her hands are cool, with that particular mix of hardness and deftness that comes with handling a sword, and her grip is firm and steady. ]
I forget sometimes that people are delicate. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you.
no subject
No, it's okay. There's nothing to apologize for.
[He lets his hands be taken and summons up a smile.]
You didn't. You showed me something, and I was curious to know it. [This brings up the question, and his fingers curl around the ones holding his in turn.] But you could feel it too, couldn't you? [Are you okay too, Sophie?]
no subject
[ he squeezes her hands, and something in her expression cracks, just a little. how can so much feeling be stored in one little body? ]
I'm fine. It's a feeling I know well. Would that I could conjure up some of the better ones for you.
[ then the glint of the gold statue that she'd dropped to hold his hands catches her eye. ]
...Actually, I think I can.
[ she lets go of one of his hands to graze her fingertips over the alchemical gold that is also her soul. if he's paying close attention, he can see that some of that terrible red gathers between her fingers and the statue and changes into a strange bright, beautiful blue. the ball of energy is smaller this time, but she brings it right up to his breastbone, still not quite touching.
blue, apparently, is a much, much better realm, because what he feels is willpower, intention, a calm surety of self, of striving toward the better. there's love in it, compassion, the distant sort that comes from being utterly sure of what one is and not needing to prove it to anything or anyone. ]
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