aftr_ooc | TEST DRIVE MEME ( 001 )

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*test drive meme

TEST DRIVE MEME ( 001 )

Test Drive Meme #1

Hello, and welcome to our very first test drive! We’re pleased that you’re expressing an interest in the game. Here, you can test the waters, gauge how your character may fare in the world of LifeAftr, and even gain some in-game incentives, if you so choose.

Remember that Reserves will open on July 17th and that Applications will open on July 24th, in preparation for the game’s official opening on August 3rd!

But first, two important notes!

1. The island of Mu exists apart from the real world and possesses a dream-like quality that characters are innately aware of from the moment they appear on its shores. No need to panic or fret. Dreams are odd things, after all - and anything can happen in them. Why would anyone question where their mind chooses to wander in its sleep?

2. Due to the nature of Mu, threads in our test drive can not only be accepted as thread samples in your application, but can be accepted as game canon as well. In fact, certain choices your character makes in Mu have the potential to bear in-game consequences.

Shipwrecked
The white sand of the beach ridges the island’s edge, even if the clear water soon becomes murky the further out you look across the horizon until the turquoise gleam of the tide disappears in a coil of surrounding fog. Indeed, your best prospects may very well be to strike out among the trees or the crags looming out over the foam-capped waves. There’s lumber to be found and made from the palm-like trees, potentially fruit or edible tubers of some kind if you forage about some. The further you travel, however, the more of your surroundings will reveal themselves in a steady unspooling of curiosities.

One corner of Mu’s current construct drops away into a sheer cliff, initially too dangerous to brave for all but the more daredevilish, but if one starts to scan the sharp rocks below, you might catch sight of what appears to be sodden planks of wood - a wreckage tossed up against the rocks. And a little further...a bobbing, shattered wreck of a lifeboat’s remains, potentially bearing supplies that might yet be salvageable.

Fashion what you can from the wood and stone around you or scavenge from the ruin of the land, if you like. But you can’t simply stand around and wait forever. It’s going to get dark sometime - and if a creature of unknown terror doesn’t catch you, the elements surely will.

Storytime

There’s a sense of camaraderie in this cove, you think. As the sun hangs low over the horizon, the world cast into orange hues, long shadows dispersed by roaring fires that dot across the beach.

That’s right, folks: it’s storytime.

There’s no one to preside over this meeting of the minds in Mu. Call it a vague recreation of things to come, if you like, some vaguely fatidic dreamlike state where you may find yourself drawn to the heat and company that awaits you by the fire. And from there, compelled to default to that old instinct that most of intelligent civilization has revered since they were advanced enough to paint geometric shapes on cave walls.

You tell a story.

Perhaps it’s a tragedy, a tale of woe and of personal loss. Perhaps it’s the sort of thing you’d break out after a few rounds of your alcoholic beverage of choice, clapping hands to your knees as you try to bite back your mirth long enough to spill the punchline. Perhaps it’s an adventure of some sort, some unbelievable rendition of your past exploits. The only common thread to be had, as those gathered around the fire share their tales, is the fundamental rule of a ritualistic sharing of stories such as this: its truth.

But how one chooses to define "truth" is, in its own way, another story entirely...

Dance, Sucker, Dance!
The beat of your heart in your chest is difficult to ignore. It judders with a pulsing, rhythmic quality. If you’re one of those that lacks a heart, the beat is still omnipresent and all-encompassing, until your entire body is unwittingly bobbing in time to a metronomic tune that seems ingrained into your very soul. It’s inescapable. You can’t seem to move unless it’s in time to the rhythm that’s now singing in every atom of your being.

But rest assured, you’re not alone in this musical curse. Everything, from the swaying trees to the waves against the beach, jumps in time to the music. And so do the monsters approaching you, that - wait a minute.

Monsters?

Oh, yes. Did we mention those?

It seems you’ve encountered the wrath of the Boogieman, who curses you to only dance to his infernal beat. If you wish to best him, you’ll have to either evade or destroy the blobs of greenish slime that serve as his minions, all in time to the hard beat of the tune in your head. Clear the radius of his curse or risk an open confrontation, if you dare. Don’t worry if you look foolish; chances are anyone else caught in the Boogieman’s thrall feels just the same.

Mu isn’t pulling any punches to start with. It is a flighty creation, after all, and seems to revel in displacing people into new and uncomfortable situations.

LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

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[Gleaming, bright-spun threads of purple spiderweb across the empty air in a steady inflorescence. The pressure in the Drifter's chest is unrelenting, one hand fisted across the fabric of their front, their heart burning as it thrashes violently in their chest. The words carry from atop the cliff -

If you let go, I can catch you and set you down here.

The question then boils down to one of trust. There is only one person in their life who can claim to have carried that mantle, to have borne their trust, tacitly given without regret. They clutch at the threads of their cloak, wishing the furred collar of the other's pale pink were draped around them instead, as though the shreds of their friend could have offered counsel.

The pitted, foam-capped sea splashes beneath them, and their grip begins to tremble the longer they spasm with each wracking, wordless cough. For a fraction of a second, the water looks an inky black, a pink rhombus glowering at them with its sickly, taunting light.

And they blink, and the apparition is gone.

The Drifter closes their eyes. They are faced with a choice, when their life has seldom offered anything of the sort. They chose not whether they would trust the fellow drifter who saved their life, nor what would come of the illness eating them from the inside out. They chose only to do something about it before they succumbed; if there was even the slightest, faintest chance of survival, they would endure because they had to.

Like many of the other options exposed to them, the choice is not really one at all. The manner in which they die seldom is.

The Drifer's eyes open, pitch-black and flinted with resolve.

And they drop into the web below.]

[The threads catch and hold them up without apparent strain, and they will find themselves carried down to the beach at a steady, measured pace as Muffet carefully reels them in until they're resting gently on the sand- at which point, the web dissipates as quietly as it formed, leaving safely on the ground.]

[She smiles approvingly.]

There we go. Do you want a hand up, or would you rather sit and rest for a while?

[They wait for the closing of water above their head, for the world to go askew and off-kilter, to fade in a glittering burn of photobleached pink and static.

But the threads catch around their hands, their middle, and they hang there, suspended, for a moment, staring at the wrenching waters beneath.

And then they're being gently propelled back to the beach, settled across the sand.

The Drifter manages to lift one hand, partway. The companion sprite at their shoulder hovers a foot or so behind them, chiming softly as a projection screen flickers words on the holographic HUD:]

one

[There was meant to be more, but the Drifter has doubled over again, yet more bright pink blood spraying out onto the sand.]

[Oh damn, that does not look good. Would green magic even work properly on whatever this is? No way for her to be sure, so she'll just have to ask and hope that they're not too unwell to answer.]

Are you sick, or injured? I can try to heal you, if you want.

[Injured? Not today. Not yet. Sick?

Ha.

Maybe they would laugh. But there would be little point in exerting that kind of effort in something that would simply jar their shredded vocal cords, incapable of making the sound necessary for speech. So the sprite chimes again:]

no cure.

I see. May I try anyway? I doubt I've got the skill to change much, but it might at least mitigate the effects a little...

[Dark eyes fasten to her multiple ones, unblinking in the intensity of their scrutiny. The last glutinous droplets of the Drifter's blood spatter wetly across the ground, and they shake their fingertips dry. The pink hisses faintly as it dissipates in a static-like cloud of some sort of blackish aura.

What have they to lose? The Immortal Cell's destruction did not cure them, so what possibly will?

At long last, the Drifter bows their head in acquiescence. The sprite hums as it projects their answer.]

very well.

Thank you.

[She reaches out with one hand and rests it very lightly and carefully on their shoulder. A soft, green glow forms at her fingertips. Muffet's not a healer, and this might be too much to handle even if she was, but hopefully the magic will be enough to make them feel a little better? Easing the symptoms, perhaps, if not the source.]

[The Drifter's eyes list closed, briefly. The warm glow - green, like the health packs used to ease the physical ailment that might plague them after battle - hums in their chest, coalescing around their heart.

It is no cure. There is no cure to be had - such is the nature of the illness. But some of the pressure around their lungs eases, and they stop coughing, albeit briefly.

The Drifter breathes out, and their dark eyes flick open again.]

$?

[They've some gearbits on hand in the way of compensation, but it's unclear if she'll take them.]

[Muffet lifts her hand and lets the magic dissipate, seeing that they're looking a bit better. She wishes she could help them more effectively, but at least it's something.]

I...

[Normally she'd leap at the chance to find a new source of revenue, but money is ultimately useful for the things you can buy with it, and she has the sneaking suspicion that this island doesn't exactly have a functioning economy. Perhaps they can try to help each other, instead?]

...was heading down the beach to see what was floating in the water over there. Do you want to come look through it with me? We might find some useful supplies, if we're lucky.

Edited (oops wrong icon) 2017-07-15 18:53 (UTC)

[That's not really an answer at all, but it's an answer they'll take, regardless. A service can be exchanged for a favor. The Drifter bows their head in acknowledgment.]

ok.

[They...don't actually wait for her to lead the way. The Drifter sets off at a brisk trot, shaking aside the fatigue seeded in their bones. Swift movement is more valuable than rest, obviously.]

[She's still a little concerned about them throwing themself into work like that so soon after being unwell, but it's their choice to make, so she walks briskly after them until they both reach the shoreline]

[She points to some debris bobbing up and down a little way out in the water, which appears to include some battered-looking but intact wooden crates.]

I was planning to try reeling them in with webbing, but it might go faster if both of us are working at it. Although if you can think of an easier way, I'm open to suggestion.

[The Drifter contemplates the crates silently, eyes narrowed to curious slits. Then, they dart forward in an abrupt flare of motion that reduces them to a purpled blur, crossing the stretch of beach and into the shallow waters. When the water's reached their waist, the salt stinging at their skin beneath their clothing, the Drifter dashes, clearing the space between themself and one of the crates in question in the blink of an eye.

They end up balanced atop the thing as it bobs there in the waves, sure-footed despite the occasional sputter that still shakes at their shoulders.

The Drifter glances back up to the spider woman from across the way. What next?]

[Well, she's impressed. She carefully spins out a long line of the same purple webbing she used to catch the Drifter, and calls out:]

I'm going to toss the line out to you, all right? Let me know once you've got it properly attached to the crate and I'll reel you both in.

[It's too far away for their sprite to project any words, but the Drifter nods. Throw it, lady spider. They'll try to ease their debt to you with some assistance, as needed.]

[And your help is much appreciated. Muffet sees the nod, eyes the distance carefully, and tosses the line out to where the Drifter can catch it.]

[And we're off. The Drifter plants one foot against the crate's rough "back," furthest from the beach, and catches the purple twine deftly before stooping to bind it about the crate's wood. And they salute, smartly.

Reel 'em in, cap'n.]

[Muffet smiles, and nods in understanding. She spins the thread back through her hands, making it vanish back to wherever it came from, and the line shortens, tugging the crate and its passenger along with it until they come aground.]

[The Drifter hops off their impromptu sea skiff as soon as it reaches the shore, stooping swiftly to help tug it along. Waterlogged wood scraping across wet sand does not make for a speedy return to dry land, and the Drifter is built for agility more than they are for brute strength, but they've a resolve to make up for it. They're breathing a bit heavily by the time the thing is finally heaved onto the white sand free from the tide's pull, but they straighten up at once.

The sprite buzzes as it projects their next query.]

open?
or get more?

Hmm...

[Muffet considers the crate thoughtfully.]

Let's open it first, see if we can get an idea of what we might expect to find inside the others. Do you have anything we can use to pry off the top?

[The Drifter draws their sword. At first, it's little more than the red hilt. Then a bright, cyan streak of energy solidifies, humming faintly as the hard light compiles into the blade.

With one swift, clean arc, the Drifter slices the top from the box. The wood sizzles faintly from the heat of the blade, but it's already dissipating and slipped back into the folds of the Drifter's cloak.

They peer inside, and marvel at the slightly furry, round shells of fruit within.

The Drifter has evidently never seen coconuts before.]

[Muffet looks thoughtfully at the blade, and is impressed by the Drifter's skill with it. She peers curiously into the box, and...]

Oh, coconuts. I've seen those before, although they didn't grow much up where we lived. Not the right climate. I think the way it works is that you crack open the hard bit on the outside, and inside there's juice and edible parts.

I'm not quite sure why they were in a crate, though...

[So food, then. The Drifter shrugs, apparently content to simply accept that this is what's been packed away. Food makes decent supplies, and as far as they're concerned, a worthy goal to set out to retrieve.

So they look back out across the seawater, eyeing the remaining crates lost in the spray.]

the rest?

Probably a good idea to bring them all in, yes.

Do you think that if I spun out a few lines and handed you the ends, you could carry them with you as you ran? That way, you could just make one trip instead of having to keep going in and out.

[A moment's contemplation as they flex their fingertips in and out, considering their strength. Then, at last, they nod shortly.]

they'll be lighter without the extra weight.

[The Drifter might not weigh much, but it might go a little ways if they don't force Muffet to rope them in along with the crates in question.]

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Depressingly appropriate icon keywords

oh god SORRY MUFF

PROBABLY THE PERSON WHO IS COUGHING BLOOD DOES NOT NEED TO APOLOGIZE???

DOUBLE SORRY

Re: DOUBLE SORRY

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Any ideas about what they should be finding in there?

gotcha covered ^_^

Thank you :D

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