dankmemes | test drive meme # 35

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!test drive

test drive meme # 35

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 August 25th, and apps are open September 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: GET YOUR RED CAPE READY
[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.

And they sure are big boys. Big and easily angered and ready to run right over you. This time, the Door has brought in Brontos, from the video game Dragon Age.

Brontos are large oxen-like beasts, though more sure-footed due to spending all their time in caves underground. There are domesticated brontos, bred to haul and be ridden and eaten... but these aren't those. These brontos are wild, one and all, and they are skittish and large and perfectly capable of running you over. Maybe just keep your distance.]

SCENARIO TWO: DESERTED
[You're alone. Completely alone, as far as you can tell. Nothing here works - oh, there's food in the stores, sure, but the water's not running, the electricity isn't working. There's not a soul on the streets, where you would normally expect to see at least a few people here and there.

So what will you do? Smash windows and grab food from the stores? (Well, the doors are all unlocked, but hey, who doesn't love smashing windows.) Shout in the streets in hopes someone will hear? Curl into a ball and cry? All valid choices. But then, what will you do when you do find someone, after thinking you were all alone? Someone you like, someone you hate, a complete stranger?

This is a mini version of our Deserted event this month.]

S O R R O W

SCENARIO THREE: ONE MORE CHANCE
[You can't stop thinking about the one who got away. They've been on your mind - well, it feels like forever, but maybe it's only been a few days. A few hours. But you can't stop thinking about them and regretting what could have been.

Maybe it's a failed romance. Maybe a broken friendship. Maybe a family member who walked away - or who you walked away from. Even a business partner who things ended poorly with. Whatever it was, you regret how things went down. If only you had another chance, a chance to fix things!

And then, there they are. The person you've been thinking of. What will you do? Beg forgiveness? Make amends? Run away? Make your decision and take action, because as soon as you do it you might realize it was never that person at all. You might have just poured out your heart and begged forgiveness from a complete stranger.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Oh.

[ That's a strange thing to say about your own race, Kettara thinks. Strange and a little sad. She follows Pratt with the soup in hand, curious to see what his camp looks like. It it a building with glass windows like the others she's seen, or a more temporary structure?

To her surprise, the structure is fairly small. ]

I have seen them before, [ she adds. ] Guarding caravans and the gates of Ogrimmar. I've heard it takes great skill to use one properly.

Takes skill to aim and conserve ammo. Not so much when you hold down the trigger and pump out 400 rounds per minute. Then you don't need much precision.

[He leaves his new palette of soup outside, he can deal with that later. More importantly he wants to get inside and make sure he doesn't have underwear hanging off the ladder and junk everywhere. He is not a neat person and most of his energy has been towards growing his stockpile.

It's small in his house, but two people can fit. There's an armchair, a bunkbed, and some barstools in the kitchen. There's also a lot of bottles of water and non-perishable food. ]

One sec. Lemme dig the M60 out of hiding.

...I suppose not.

[ She knows enough about such weapons to understand the devastation they can cause. Still, Pratt's home is a more interesting subject for the moment. She steps inside, sniffing the air. There's so much stuff. She's never seen so many things in one place. ]

All of this is yours?

I've been stockpiling in case the stores run out of supplies. It's .. something they did back home. Prepper stashes. For the apocalypse.

[Boy it sounds stupid when said out loud. He goes over to the bunk bed, grabbing his machine gun off the top bunk.]

Ever actually held a gun before?

The end of the world?

[ It's a sobering thought. Kettara has heard of worlds ending before. She never did see Outland before her mother fled. Supposedly it was beautiful, once.

She blinks. ]

No. But I can use a bow.

Yeah. It's something people back home worry about.

[Not something he really needs to care about here. Since he's not even 100% sure he's still alive. But he wants to be prepared anyway.]

Alright, well.. this is nothing like a bow. It's not loaded so you're not gonna shoot anything, but you hold it like this.

[He demonstrates, putting the stock of the rifle against his shoulder. The M60 is not a small gun and is a little unwieldy. At least the canvas ammo bin has been enhanced by some bedazzled jewels in a random pattern.]

People worry about that where I'm from, too.

[ One of her first duties as Master Muln's apprentice was to help him clear out a group of Burning Blade fanatics. A gruesome duty, to be sure, but a necessary one. At least in death they had been true orcs, warriors to the end.

Kettara leans in for a better look, nodding. It's larger than the rifles she's seen back home, but she appreciates the small flash of gems. A warrior ought to make their weapon special. ]

May I?

[ She really, really wants to hold it. ]

[It's almost a relief that the end of the world is universally feared. Makes him feel slightly less crazy.]

Sure.

It's heavier than it looks.

[Not that she can't handle it, but it won't feel great if she drops it on her foot. He hands it over stock first, flipping up the little tripod feet for setting it on the ground.]

This handle on top is for carrying, you'll want to hold it right about here and look down the sight with your dominant eye.

It's made for mowing down troops, fires something obscene like 500 rounds per minute. Not that I have that much ammo, but that's what it's designed for. We had a ton of these, but Jacob wanted to kill everyone by hand.

[Mow down entire towns in one go, or mercilessly hunt them down and skin them one by one? The choice seemed pretty obvious to Pratt. And it wasn't the skinning option.]

[ It takes both hands to balance properly. Kettara hefts the weapon, bringing it to bear so she can get used to the feel, the weight of the thing. Then she listens to what Pratt is really saying, and lowers the weapon with a frown. ]

This is a dishonorable weapon. A true enemy is owed a fair fight.

[ She hands it back to him abruptly. ]

This Jacob, he is your commander?

There aren't any fair fights. Someone is always stronger, someone is always more cunning.

[He shrugs, taking it back and setting it on the bunk.]

Not everyone is honorable, some people just want to survive.

[Like him. He just wants to survive.]

Yes.

I mean... No. Not really. I ...

[He looks a little lost suddenly.]

Yeah, I suppose he is.

A warrior must be honorable. Otherwise their ancestors spit on them and they'll walk alone in death.

[ Kettara believes this with everything in her. A good fight is an honorable one. But she has learned that humans don't see things the same way. They have strange notions and rules she doesn't understand. ]

...I don't understand. Either he is your commander or he is not.

Edited (urg html ) 2018-09-19 16:46 (UTC)

That sounds noble, but people aren't like that. They lie and cheat and betray each other.

[He knows; he's dying a traitor back home right now. Well, traitor to one, hero to another. It depends on who's point of view is looking at it.]

He's the leader of the army. He takes us, owns us, .. hears us.

[Pratt can tell he's drifting into that catatonic state he gets in sometimes and he visibly collects himself. He doesn't want to act like a psychopath in front of a stranger in his own home. ]

We're not talking about this. I'm here, he's not. That's it.

They should be.

[ Kettara frowns, taking a step forward. There are spells to speak to another being without actually speaking, but that's not what gives her pause. Owns us? ]

Do you fight for a slaver, Deputy Pratt?

[ She has a hand on her axe already. The elements will support her in killing him, if he's done such things. ]

We're not slaves.

[But he looks really unsure about that.]

Yes I... I will train. I will kill. And I will sacrifice in his name. I will cull.. cull the weak and I will...

[He doesn't finish the mantra. There's a moment where he seems to be staring at something that isn't there before he backs up unsteadily, crying out in pain and holding his head with both hands. He mutters a prayer, eyes wide and focused entirely on the floor beneath him. But the way his head is pounding, Jacob's words screaming at him, he's not strong enough to resist. Breathing ragged through clenched teeth he drops to his knees.]

The weak must... must be culled.

[He hasn't forgotten she's there though, and he's struggling to hold onto sanity right now, even as his shoulders heave from the effort.]

No! Don't listen to me. I'm not going to. I won't.

[ It's not a denial. It's a clumsy jumble of words and motion that remind her too much of Drek'thar's fits. How he would be talking of one matter and then seem to catch on something, a word or an implication, and then quite abruptly there would be violence: in word, tone, or action. Sometimes he called the elements and they respected him too much, even in his moments of madness, not to answer.

Kettara flattens her ears. She doesn't like this. She doesn't like comparing a human to Drek'thar, one of their oldest and most venerated shaman. And she doesn't like how little she understands of this moment.

It would be better if they fought, Kettara thinks. Cleaner. But there would be no honor in it.

Instead, she murmurs a prayer to the Spirit of Water. A healing spell glows in her hand and she presses her palm flat against Pratt's head. It won't stop madness. But it can ease the tension, sometimes. If the blood flow moving to his brain is constricted, there can be pain. Other shaman have done it for Kettara in the past, back when she had the nightmares. It feels like something cool and comforting, as if dipping your hand into a steam. And, if she does it correctly, the pain should fade.

That, at least, she can help. ]

Be silent.

[ It works better if he doesn't squirm. ]

[Pratt's been very well trained, he's obedient to his own detriment. He stops talking, stops muttering under his breath and concentrates only on not completely losing himself.

When she presses her hand against his head, it actually helps. His breathing slows and it feels like the hands constricting his brain have released their grip. It's .. soothing. And for a few moments he kneels there, getting himself back under control. But as soon as he's more aware of his surroundings he jerks back, scuttling against the wall and staring at her.]

What did you do to me?

[he doesn't sound accusatory, instead he seems to be scared.]

[ Kettara tips her head to the side. This moment feels strange and fraught to her, tangled with pitfalls she doesn't know to look for. ]

A healing spell. To ease the blood flow in your skull.

[ She makes no move toward him one way or another. She felt the spell working and for a moment his breathing had settled. Now he's got his back against the wall, staring up at her for reasons Kettara does not understand. ]

I won't hurt you. It wouldn't be honorable.

[A.. healing spell. He shouldn't be surprised after the making water out of nothing and turning into a wolf, but he still is. However it's a little dulled by the whole almost having a complete breakdown thing.]

I'd be an easy target right now. You should. You're stronger than me.

[He rubs his head before struggling to his feet. Well this is awkward. ]

I .. I'm sorry, I still don't know what triggers that.

[Well for the most part, he knows one thing that will send him catatonic immediately. But luckily there's almost no chance of that happening here.

But for the other part; Is it talking about Jacob? Is it thinking about the cult? Memories of the Veteran's Center? Admission of weakness? He has no idea. Sometimes he can talk about Jacob and be fine, but other times... well other times it ends up like this. ]

It would dishonor my ancestors, and myself.

[ She says it simply. Strength is important, of course, and a blessing to any soul regardless of their lot in the world, but it is not everything. Kettara is beginning to see this now. It wasn't an easy lesson.

Nor is this, she thinks. Though what the lesson is meant to be, with a human and his strange fits, Kettara cannot guess.

She breathes in, centering herself. She thinks of Drek'thar and some of the other orcs who raised her. ]

I don't know you, human. But my teacher says sometimes, when a battle is not honorable or a great violence is committed without reason, it leaves a wound on the mind and strange things will worry at it.

I don't want to bring you dishonor.

[He frowns, he's weak and pathetic enough that killing him would be beneath her. That's almost impressive. He does seem to be much better now though, losing that haunted look where he doesn't seem to be in the present.]

They sound very wise.

Great violence, yeah.. that's about right. I need to get better at fighting back, but I'm weak. And this place keeps battering at everyone. Keeping us down so we don't resist.

Master Muln is a great shaman.

[ One day she hopes to be just as wise and strong as him. Kettara tips her head to the side, watching Pratt curiously. ]

You have decided to fight? That is good. That is a start.

I've always been fighting.

[He sounds defensive again.]

I'm just not strong enough to win.

[ Kettara frowns at him. He says one thing, then another that seems to contradict it. How strange. ]

There are many ways to win a battle. Perhaps you are trying the wrong way.,

[He's.. never thought of it that way. But maybe she's right, the reason he's a mess is less because he's weak, and more because he's not resisting effectively.]

Maybe. Maybe I am. I don't know how else to fight. Training didn't prep me for the mental part of battles.

[The trauma, the emotional toil, none of that was ever covered in all his police training. Not that it would have adequately prepared him for a brainwashing cult, but it would have been a start.]

The mental part?

[ Kettara blinks, watching him with renewed interest. ]

What do you mean?

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