Test Drive Meme # 1

[hadrielmods]

Welcome to Hadriel's very first 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 September 24th, and Apps are open October 1st.

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!

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: ANYONE GOT A LIGHT?
[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.

Watch out as you explore the streets of Hadriel, because you're not alone, and there's always something on the rooftops watching and waiting for the perfect opportunity to separate you from your group and tear you into pieces. In this instance, the door has managed to grab something truly horrific, and it's definitely out for blood (and brains) tonight.

Smokers are enemies in the video game series Left 4 Dead, who use their prehensile tongues to capture unwitting people and either drag them away for consumption or hang them up to strangle them. With all of the activity of characters trying to find out what's going on and where they are, there are more than a few of them, lingering in the shadows and waiting to try strike at anyone who may be lagging behind.]


SCENARIO TWO: YOUR HEART WILL GO ON
[You awaken in a windowless room, the walls strangely curved. The door, when you try it, is quite firmly locked. No amount of force is able to break through, so it seems to be sealed by supernatural means. Next to the door stands a slender pedestal, about as big around as a large man's thigh. At the top of the pedestal is a indentation, as if something were meant to go there.

But you're not alone in this room. There are two things with you: a person and a corpse. Pinned to the body is a note: Place a heart on the pedestal to leave. Tucked neatly into the corpse's pocket is a letter opener, small and not particularly sharp.

Did you have weapons or tools on you before? You don't now. But look at it this way: what better form of bonding is there than helping a friend or stranger dig a heart out of a corpse with nothing but a letter opener and your bare hands?]


H O P E

SCENARIO THREE: HAVE YOU HAD YOUR BREAK-IN TODAY?
[You're standing outside a storefront, colored glass set into intricate designs. It's beautiful, artistic, but more importantly - there's definitely food inside. Good food, too, by the glimpses you can see through the window. In fact - wait a minute - isn't that your favorite dish in there, just waiting for you? You've been searching for food for hours, it seems, and the city is bare. Your tummy is getting awful rumbly. What luck!

You try the door. Cruelly, it is locked. The food taunts you, just out of reach.

The glass is lovely, intricate, but it's just glass. Or maybe you know how to pick locks. Or maybe there's a back way in. Or maybe some passing friend will be able to help you. There's a lot of options here, if what you really want is a mouthful of the finest... whatever it is you like.]

Comments

Arya Stark | A Song of Ice and Fire

[whichend]

one.
[ Arya moves through the new city, silent as a shadow. There are plenty of shadows here, and fear, too.

Fear cuts deeper than swords.

She keeps one hand on her hip, touching her own sword. She can't afford to lose it. Not here. She's heard noises, terrible noises. Like the monsters Old Nan used to tell her about, except these are real.

There are other people, too, milling about. Maybe that's what's attracting them.

She hears a gargle, and it's too close for comfort. She turns and draws Needle. There's a pack. A horde. ]

Get back, you stupid things!

three.
[ Arya's got her hands pressed against the glass, and in that moment, she looks like a girl again. She's not someone who's ran, who's fought, who's killed. Just a small little thing.

It's a feast, a celebration fit for a king in the north. Her mouth waters, but even more importantly, she can practically see her family in there. Bran. Rickon. Robb, Jon, even her father...

But her father's dead, isn't he? She saw it happen.

She doesn't even notice you coming up from behind. ]

Three!

[unconqueredson]

[The problem is that the glass is very beautiful.

In any other situation - any other - Saul would not be thinking twice. He knows how easily windows break before the well-placed kicks of hungry youths. And he is hungry, Mithra's blood, always, desperately hungry. But the glass...]

They craft these things in my homeland, in my city, [he mutters, swallowing hard, as he comes to stand behind the girl facing the window. He can see the reflection of her face, and it's a look he knows very well. They are both starving, and for a little more than food.]

Move. I - I'm going to break it.

[whichend]

[ Arya hates being told what to do, but the plan is solid, and besides, this means she can blame the other man if they're caught. She steps back and draws Needle, a long, thin sword for protection. She doesn't take her eyes off him. Doesn't trust him. She might have to compete for food.

Competition or no, she's still curious. ] Where are you from? [ He doesn't sound like someone from Westeros or Braavos. ]

[unconqueredson]

[The sword catches Saul's attention - a good sword, if the girl can use it, which he doubts, so he leaves his hook and wire clipped at his belt. He wouldn't need the weapon to break the glass anyhow, only a good kick. If he can bring himself to kick that light and beauty in.]

Ilyiga. From Tezzei, in the South. [Answering was a mistake. Now he sees it clearly in his mind's eye.] And you must be from someplace far if you haven't heard of our glasswork. Although the war...

[he can't do it. Instead he begins to move around, looking for another entrance. She might mock him for it; and then he might see if she can use that sword after all.]

[whichend]

[ She doesn't know that city. That's not south as in Dorne - that must be the south of another continent. ]

I'm from Braavos. [ A lie. ] It's on the other side of the world, probably.

[ A frown. ] What war? Must've been bad.

[ He's not going to do it. Fine. She wants in. If he's too craven, well, she'll just have to be the braver one. She puts the hilt of her sword through the glass, shattering the window completely. ]

[unconqueredson]

Probably, [he agrees, not knowing the name one way or another. Does it matter? He hardly knows a thing beyond his own country. He glances around the corner of the building, but sees no door.] The civil war. We've been fighting -

[The sound of crashing glass brings him whirling back, too late to do anything but stare in outrage that transforms, viper-quick, into fury. Mindless of her weapon, he darts at her, grasping for her right wrist to grab and viciously twist her arm. For all his filthy, starved look, he is frighteningly quick, and strong.]

Little bitch! Do you know how much work goes into a thing like that?!

[whichend]

[ She bares her teeth, trying not to cry out in pain. She knees the man in the gut and draws her blade. There's an animalistic fury in her eyes, the kind that normally doesn't show up in a young girl. She'll kill the man, if he hurts her any more. Make no mistake. ]

Let. Me. Go. I'm no one's bitch.

[unconqueredson]

[The kick connects hard, and he staggers back, air huffing out of him, but does not let ho. He does rethink the question of whether she can use the sword, though; he had seen other children wear the look she wears. They all did at one time or another. All except him, who had war in his blood.

With his right hand still about her wrist, he snaps the hook from his belt with his left. She has reach on him, but at this range his weapon is ideal for capturing and disarming, and so he isn't worried. He even disregards the window and the food, for a moment, in his interest in this creature who is very much like the creatures he used to run with.]

How well can you use that little thing, then?

[whichend]

Well enough to kill you. [ She spits at his feet. ]

I've killed Knights, all bigger and stronger than me. I've trained with the Faceless Men. You'd be easy.

[ Not that easy, though. This man clearly knows what he's doing, and he's as desperate and angry as she. Still, it helps to look tough. ]

[unconqueredson]

I don't know what Faceless Men are. But you could kill someone who underestimated you, I think. [It's nearly a compliment. The first lesson that a child soldier learns - he'd used it times enough himself.

He thinks they might understand each other.]

I'm going to let you go, [he decides. If nothing else he can't eat while caught up with her, and there is only so long that he can ignore the omnipresent hunger.] We'll eat. After that you can try to kill me as you please. [He eyes her, ready to release her hand, but still with his hook ready to parry any immediate strike that might follow.]

And if I kill you for that window, that would be fair, too.

1

[americanclassic]

[It's the pitch of the voice that draws him more than the words. A kid. Here? Jesus. Shield in hand, he's using it to cave in heads, chests, clutching arms, and to smash bodies up against walls, crushing them with the added weight and strength behind it. He fights through to where the voice came from.]

Hold on. I'm coming.

[Not that he's sure that'll mean much to someone that has no idea who's coming, but he wants her to know she's not alone. It's not just her and monsters. There's help.]

[whichend]

[ Arya may be small, but she's killed men. Real men, with proper brains and everything. These can't be that different: all she has to do is imagine them with Cersei's face, or Ser Ilyn's.

That gives her some courage, and she aims her blows at their faces. The faces, after all, appear to be the most dangerous part.

She whips her head at the man with the - is that a shield? It's no banner Arya recognizes. It gives one of those creatures just enough time to wrap some kind of tentacle around her leg. Arya screams, and plunges her sword into the beast. ]

[americanclassic]

[Hell. With a harder hit, he bashes the head of the creature standing between him and the girl, sending it flying into the wall. His shield comes down on the... tongue-tentacle thing (he's not looking too closely at that), severing it above where it curled around her leg. A booted foot came out to catch it in the face, sending it toppling back as he moved to slide a hand under one of her arms, aiming to help her up.]

I've got you. Come on, we need to get you somewhere safer.

[If any such place existed around here.]

[whichend]

[ He's promising safety, and gods, does she want it. She's wanted it for years. But the last time a strange man promised her safety, he took her name, her eyes, her everything. And the time before that?

That ended in death.

She lets him help her up, but she's wary. She forces her voice to remain hard, calm, strong. ]

Who are you? And where are you going?

I'm strong, you know. I can be fine on my own.

[americanclassic]

[That sense of stranger danger was almost a relief to see, even if she was dressed a little... well, she'd fit into one of those rag-tag plays form his day.

He's about to answer, but there's a gurgling moan from the creature whose tongue he'd severed. Seemed it wasn't done. His shield was thrown, cutting through where its jaw was split open as it made another disgusting groan, bouncing off the wall behind it, then coming back for him to catch. Then he answered her.]

Steve Rogers. And as for the where, I'm not quite sure yet, but here doesn't seem to be the best spot.

[It takes everything in him not to ruffle her hair. God, he remembered being like that. Smaller. Significantly weaker. But still willing to spit like a cornered cat and try to lash out with what he had. He noticed the sword -- something like an epee, only not, and he managed to give her a nod instead.]

Maybe you would, but it'd be better if we had someone to watch the other's backs, don't you think?

[whichend]

[ Arya watches the shield, eyes wide. Magic. It must be. The only people she saw pull off feats like that were the priests of the Many-Faced god, but this man definitely isn't a priest. He's not nobody. He's somebody. Steve Rogers.

She supposes she has to give him a name, too. Her last name was Mercy, but that doesn't feel right for this place. Here, she has to be strong. Here, there's no-one to tell her what to do but herself. ]

I'm Nymeria.

[ It's not entirely a lie. She's Nymeria, in her dreams. Close enough.

She nods. Watching each other's back is how you survive. And she can kill him, if he decides that he doesn't really want to watch her back after all. ]

Run? [ She's got an ever-so-small grin on her face. Who knows? This could be fun. ]

[americanclassic]

[Interesting name, and only one of them, but he nods at her again. Right. Names were a good start. And he'd noticed by the blood smearing the little sword and how she hadn't been slow to use it when she'd been grabbed that she wasn't squeamish with violence -- or unfamiliar with it. In a better place, that would probably bug him, but here and now? Probably for the best.]

Run.

[He'd keep his pace to hers, unless she'd let him carry her, but he'd keep from offering that until it seemed necessary. There was too much of that familiar look in her eye that said she wouldn't appreciate the offer unless it was absolutely needed, and even then...

He gestured off the way he'd come, broken bodies littering the street.]

That way's partially cleared. We can try to find higher ground.

[whichend]

[ She is Nymeria now, named after the woman of a thousand ships. She can run through a stupid street. ]

We'll need someplace to hide. Higher ground would be good, because then you can see everybody, but you must make sure they can't see you.

[ That's how she's managed to survive.

After a few moments, she finally breaks. She has to know about the magic of his shield. ]

Are you a priest? Do you serve a House in the Free Cities? I didn't know they had houses there.

[americanclassic]

You've got the basics down. I'm taking it this isn't your first rodeo?

[If she even knew that term. Probably not, if her question of whether he was a priest or not was any indication. He gave her a puzzled frown, then shook his head.]

Sorry, but no. I'm just a soldier.

[Well, that was a big fat lie, Steve. Don't lie to children. He huffed out a put upon sigh before gesturing for her to lead the way.]

I'm a little more than a soldier, but I don't know about any Free Cities, sorry.

one.

[survivra]

[ A child alone down here in this darkness, one hand on a small sword she even looks like she knows how to use, and a horde of monsters surrounding her. It's like a beacon for Katsa, who's at Arya's side so quickly it's like she's appeared there, her own sword out and her body angled protectively in front of the child—though she doesn't step in front of Arya and her sword completely. ]

You're armed. Good.

[ She can't quite tell whether Arya is a girl or a boy, though Katsa—also dressed in men's clothing, also with her dark hair cropped to men's length, though her height and body a bit more developed than Arya's to quite cause the same sort of confusion—has a guess. It puts a grim smile on her face, at least, as she turns toward these monsters. ]

How well can you use it?

[whichend]

[ The woman looks like the kind of hero Arya used to love to hear about in stories. Stories of the women-warriors, the ones who held swords instead of roses and were unafraid.

Arya's always wanted to be one of those women. She's come closer, lately, but not in the way she was expecting. She never anticipated the sacrifice. ]

Well enough. I've fought before. [ Killed before, but she's not going to tell that to someone she's just met. ]

[ She gets into a water dancer's stance and stabs the creature, quickly. Swift as a deer. Calm as still water. Fear cuts deeper than swords. ]

[survivra]

[ So she has, Katsa notes with some surprise at the way Arya holds her blade and holds herself—and a little bit of pleasure. Of course, it shouldn't have to fall upon a girl so young to protect herself like this. But that's the way of the world, and if it must be, then she ought to have as much the means to protect herself as anybody else. ]

These things are positively disgusting. At least there's no question on whether we've the luxury of fighting cleanly.

[ She jumps into the crowd of monsters: kicking, slashing, ripping through their number with deadly efficiency. But while she says nothing of it she's doing her best to keep as few as possible from reaching the girl and always keeps Arya in the corner of her vision.

Well. And she does have questions. But right now the concern should be on surviving, and luckily enough, that's the one skill at which Katsa is Graced beyond the rest.

Something slithers out toward Arya's leg, a long tongue ready to trip her, and Katsa throws a dagger from beneath her sleeves before she even has time to think. It pins the tongue right as another one tries to grab Katsa by the neck, and she whirls and stabs it furiously, feeling smoke beginning to claw and itch in her throat. That they're outnumbered so greatly is certainly a disadvantage, especially with Katsa's attention split between herself and Arya, but she can't think about that. She shouts. ]

Stay close to me!

[whichend]

[ There's so many of them. Arya's never seen anything like it. Is this what Jon fights on the Wall? Creatures like these? She's almost glad she never made it to the wall. These are terrifying.

At this point, she's fallen back on instinct and Syrio's words. She has to make sure she is seeing. Not just looking.

And what she sees before her is a woman with far, far more experience than she does. A woman who can keep her alive. The kind of person Arya hoped she'd become.

She does as the woman says, and stays close. Arya aims for their necks. She doesn't know much about these creatures, but anything with its head removed dies all the same. She's able to kill a few of them, and incapacitate some others, but it's difficult. This isn't like a few Knights in a field or a lone assassination job. This is a horde. ]

We need a plan!

[survivra]

[ They’re already in the middle of it all. Just two alone, surrounded and with almost no environment to use but the twisting tunnels, doesn’t make way for much strategy. She glances up, eyes darting to find some sort of route, to count the number left to rush them. Were she alone, she'd simply rush them with little care, but she has to make sure Arya is safe as well. Katsa knows they can get out of this still.

She takes a breath and places a hand on Arya's shoulder, swirling the girl around behind her and sparing a moment in between the lumbering and the smoking and reaching monstrous limbs, and looking her in the eyes. Katsa's are two different colors: blue and green, brighter than most blue or green eyes are, and her gaze is steady. ]

We’re going to run straight through them as fast as we can. We'll not stop to fight except to clear our path. Just use your sword on any that try to grab you and do not leave my side, do you understand?

[ She kicks something away from her, something slimy and reaching, and swears at it loudly. ]

They’re monstrous, but even all of them together aren’t much.

[whichend]

I understand.

[ Arya's grey eyes meet Katsa's blue and green. There's power in the woman's eyes, Arya decides, if that wasn't already obvious by the way the woman fought. Arya is equally as serious. Her childhood ended when her father died, and Arya's got no childlike attitude now. She knows when she needs to do as she's told. She nods. ]

I'll stay with you. We can handle them.