![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
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!
no subject
[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?
no subject
[ 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. ]
no subject
The better ones?
[He's not sure what that means, but he supposes if hell is a real place of feeling, then perhaps other planes of brighter emotions exist too? Orym watches curious, eyes fixed on the small blue orb that's formed in her hand, watching still as she brings it close to him.
His eyes widen at the feelings that come with this, a wash of calm and peace and love, a certainty. It's cool like water, rushing over him, his spirit caught in it, buoyed like a rising tide.]
Oh. [A soft sound, like revelation. He smiles.] It's beautiful.
no subject
Isn't it? One of the most beautiful things I've ever felt. Living, in the most pure form I've ever known.
[ what she should be, as a creature of mostly will. what she could potentially be, if she decides to use her soul thus, though that part is likely beyond orym's understanding.
what he may actually notice is that some of the statue has disappeared, an amount of gold approximately in proportion to the amount of blue currently gathered in her palm, which is only about a marble's worth. ]
no subject
He notices the faint change in the statue, the same size as the little sphere. The dots are easy to connect, but he doesn't know what it means.]
Thank you, for showing this to me.
no subject
[ her smile is small, gentled by the small blue orb in her hand. ]
And, I'm assuming, new. Do you drink tea? My home isn't far from here. There are a few, ah...luxuries here that are worth getting used to. Strange lights, but the most wonderful plumbing and cooking devices. Exact, consistent temperatures. Showers, which is rather like bathing in the rain, but inside and whatever temperature you like. It's quite a thing.
[ someone may enjoy cooking a bit. ]
no subject
[And largely still confused by this place -- the fact that it's full of ghost stories made real that drop presents when the fight is over i sonly adding to that confusion.]
I like tea. [And all those things sound strange too, but the good kind of strange. This shower thing in particular sounds intriguing.]
no subject
[ interesting, judging by her tone, means something between vexing and quite bad, actually. in any case, she begins walking, leaving the road fairly quickly in favor of a more direct path through the woods. just based on how orym is dressed, she assumes that he's at home enough in wooded terrain. ]
I have a variety of types of tea. And a garden, which will eventually lead to more types of tea.
no subject
[He's making a face though.] I've never heard of magic that can do that. But I'm also not an expert.
[And the things he's seen magic do recently, well, maybe he shouldn't be that surprised. Imogen can crawl through people's minds after all.
Orym follows along. He certainly does not mind the woods at all, but night has fallen and his eyes are not made for the dark. So he sticks close to Sophie, so that what little moonlight makes it through the trees mean that she's mostly in sight.]
You've been here long enough to start a garden, huh?
no subject
[ it honestly did not occur to sophie that darkness was an issue, and when orym eventually makes a misstep in the dark, a cool hand reaches out and catches his shoulder deftly before he can really stumble. it remains there, though, a light guide. she doesn't seem to have any issue with the dark. ]
I have, though I'll admit that the soil was already turned and it was mostly a matter of planting. If it would be easier, you can take my hand.
no subject
[By the nature of this world itself and the fact that people from countless realms have all been thrown together without much in the way of warning or preparation.
He's already trying to correct the near stumble when Sophie's hand lands on his shoulder. Oh. She noticed. He looks up at her with a sheepish smile.]
Actually, if you don't mind, I'd appreciate it. Halflings can't see in the dark as well as elves and gnomes can. [He holds a hand upwards to her. Hand holding?]
no subject
[ she takes his hand without hesitation, holding firmly but not tightly. he may be child-sized, but there's nothing in sophie's grip that indicates she thinks he needs to be coddled and led. ]
Not being able to see in the dark is another one of those things I forget is a problem for most. You may have guessed that I spend much of my time alone. [ her tone is wry. ] At least after dark. It seemed rude to ask about your height, but 'halfling' sounds like something a self-aggrandizing human decided to call your people. In my world, I am called skinchanger, but here people seem to prefer shapeshifter.
no subject
Half of my friends can see just fine in the dark as well, so I'm used to being one of the ones who's stumbling around a bit.
[Even if that one time they decided to send him into the entirely darkened warehouse with no light.
He laughs a little at her observation.] Yeah, maybe. That sounds about right for how the word came about. But we are about half the size of humans, so it's descriptive enough. Honestly, I'm more used to being around other peoples than halflings. Zephrah has humans, halflings, tieflings, but mostly it's half-elves. My husband was a half-elf.
[A curious glance to her even though he can't make out much in the dark.] Do you prefer skinchanger?
no subject
Well, I hope they held your hand, then.
[ his laugh makes her smile, which he may not be able to see, but can certainly hear in her tone. as though a person could be half, but she doesn't say that aloud. ] Accuracy is worth something, I suppose. Tieflings are the ones with horns and tails, yes? They don't exist where I'm from.
[ she hears that was, and her hand tightens briefly, but dead spouses don't seem like a good conversation for a walk in the dark. ]
Skinchanger is what I've always known, but shapeshifter is what people here understand. Those who can change their shape are rare in my homeland to begin with, and I'm no normal skinchanger. So it falls into a similar category as halfling. There are many people here who can take on an animal form, though that's the magic of the place, not an inborn talent.
We're almost there.
[ he may have guessed, since the forest is beginning to thin again. ]
no subject
[A laugh and he shakes his head.] They did decide I should be the one to go into explore a pitch black warehouse once though. On my own, with no lights. And then they talked into my head from outside and nearly scared me to death. It worked out.
[A nod at the question.] Those are tieflings.
I've met a changeling, but they didn't have abilities anywhere near like yours. [Not other creatures entirely, not so seamlessly. Also that changeling sucked. A lot.]
This place gives people powers? To change into things?