dankmemes | Test Drive Meme #22

Welcome to Hadriel's test drive, and thank you again for your interest in the game! As always, our reserves page is here, and our applications page is here! Reserves open July 25th, and apps are open August 1st. Please remember that there is an app cap of 20 apps.

Two quick points here as well:
1. Any thread made in Hadriel's test drive will be accepted as the sole Action Log sample in the application.
2. All threads made in the test drive can be considered game canon, either through handwaving or through a shared mental experience while coming through the Door!

Test drives will be broken up into specific god mini-events, during which your characters can see how well they fare under the watchful eye of one of the gods. Choose wisely or just simply pick 'em all, and have fun!

F E A R

SCENARIO ONE: THE WRONG KIND OF SCARY
[The Door brings in all that is chaotic and evil in the world. This may include you, may include the person next to you... and may include the monster behind you.

There's an odd shuffling to your right and to your left. Do you know what that is? Maybe not, but at least nobody else does either. You might peek at an eye stalk or a stinger, you might catch a glimpse of something that can maybe pass for fingers... or maybe it just has a mouth on its butt because its creator was feeling particularly sadistic that day. That's right, you're looking at the creatures from Spore, EA's infamous alien creation game with the most awkward alien creator imaginable.

These particular Spore creatures are the carnivorous kind, the kind who seek out and eat other creatures so that they can instantly procreate to pass on their victim's genetic code and make their species even more wild. You might not want to stick around and watch the mating process. I promise it's just as weird as you think.]

T R A N Q U I L I T Y / C O N F U S I O N

SCENARIO TWO: STEPFORD SUNDAY
[You wake up one lovely weekend morning to the sounds of birds chirping outside and sun streaming through your window. What a wonderful day to be perfectly normal and happy in the suburbs! Your family is all around you, like a Norman Rockwell painting, happy to go about their average day in their average life in their average city.

So what if your sister is an archdemon? Or your father is somehow a dragon? It's just the way that things have always been... isn't it?

The perceptive of you may begin to see cracks in the veneer, may begin to wonder why everything seems to be so perfect... and as the truth begins to unfold, it paints a much darker picture than the one you're seeing. Are you sure you don't want to stay, just a little while longer?

This is a mini version of our Stepford Summer event this month!]

R A G E / D E L I G H T

SCENARIO THREE: CAKE WARS
[There are plenty of ways in this world to rouse your competitive spirit. Many of them involve athletics- few involve such beautiful edible artistry as this.

That's right, you're in a cake baking competition, and no matter how competitive you normally are, thanks to Rage's influence, you want to win. Competitors can be in teams of two or alone, and they have until morning to bake their cakes to the fullest and bring it to Delight's temple for judging.

So what kind of cake baker are you? Do you revel in your artistry? Do you measure everything and carefully prepare each icing tip? Or do you know that you suck at cooking and decide to use the opportunity to sabotage your opponent's cake instead? Nothing is off limits, and all's fair in cake and war, after all!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

One
Everything changed between one breath and the next. The silver-haired, pale she-elf took a breath to steady herself before walking towards what appeared to be an exit. To where, she didn't know, and she wasn't particularly fond of her walking companions.

But she wasn't a fighter, and she looked it- as frail and ghost-like as she was. There was still a quiet dignity to her, and grace in her every movement. It wouldn't be fear that struck her down, though exhaustion and depression had.

The closest items on her there resembled a weapon were her knitting needles, but she tucked them into her pale blue robes, along with some golden-red yarn. A quick step away at a key moment took her out of immediate reach of one of the creatures who dogged her steps, and she increased her pace towards the exit, firmly determined to show no fear.

She wasn't the mother of Feanor and first wife of Finwe for nothing.

He doesn't know her - they've never had a chance to meet. But her picture hangs in their house and her tapestries are everywhere in the palace, Indis insisting on preserving her legacy (even if all it did was make Feanor huffy).

"Grandmother?"

He doesn't know what brought him here, but he knows her when he sees her, all the same.

They've never met, true. But she knows him all the same. She knows the face and names of all her grandchildren. And all of their deeds, great and evil. She'd weaved them all, many times.

And now she can hear at least this one, in all its strength and beauty, rather than the whisper of wind that'd been all she could gather before. Just enough for her work.

Miriel dismisses the creatures, she's passed through the exit and they seem less inclined on following beyond, and slowly approaches him.

"Makalaure. Oh child, why are we here?"

It's an odd relationship, never having met, but knowing each other's tales, all the same. Shyly, he comes over, bowing and halting just shy of touching range.

"I don't know, grandmother. No one's been able to tell me that, yet."

Theirs is an odd family. She steps closer, then hesitates herself. She doesn't dare presume he'd welcome her touch, so she holds back.

"Have you been here long?" It feels like some time has passed for her grandson, though she can't tell how much, or how it's possible, for she'd just finished Maedhros' fall to fire and was about to weave Maglor's toss of Silmaril to Ulmo's waters.

They both must present such a picture, hesitating and staring shyly at each other across the divide.

"A little while, I think. A month, maybe? Are... are you reborn, Grandmother?"

A flicker of surprise in silver eyes. More time must have passed than she'd thought! But then, Time has become...rather relative for her.

"I returned to life soon after your grandfather's death. To weave for the Powers."

"To weave for... " He blinks a few times, and then flushes, ashamed, and looks away.

"You... must know then. What... we did"

Miriel steps forward again, instinctively, and reaches for him.

"I bear witness and weave, for our family's deeds must never be forgotten. That is my task and reason for living now."

He doesn't look up, although he meekly allows her to take his hands.

"I'm sorry. It... must be a very thankless job."

Her touch is feather-light and cool. Only a flicker of the flame of life is in her these days, and she reserves that heat for her work.

"I asked for it, child. I would give it to no other."

He still flinches a little, only relaxing when she stays gentle.

"Still. It... cannot have been easy. We ... must have been such a disappointment."

She doesn't tighten her hold, though she doesn't release it either.

"No less than myself." How much could have been avoided if she'd found a way to hold on?

"What? No!" Maglor startles, staring at her.

"Father never blamed you, grandmother, please do not blame yourself!"

Her fearlessness would be rewarded by the appearance of a sudden protector. Celebrimbor did not let his leg hamper him as he lashed out with his blade and even a bow and arrow when the creatures were far enough away. He must protect her - defend her - but he did not fully know why.

"Are you well?" he asked, turning to face her fully at last. His connection to Fëanor was impossible to hide. He, like his father, took after the dark Elf the most.

A protector who struck her as familiar. She'd woven that face into the tale of her family more than once, and knew she would again. But she hadn't quite expected to ever meet him, nor her grandchildren.

And his actions warmed her cold hroa, though she only stood watching him quietly, knowing without doubt he would keep her as safe as he could. It would be enough, too. There was no smile to her. No joy. But there was just the hint of warmth in her gaze.

"I am as well as I may be."

Test Drive Meme #22

Miriel | Silmarillion/Tolkien

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