TEST DRIVE MEME ( 001 )

[lifeaftr_mods]

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.

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LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

Comments

rude

[postictal]

Another living soul in the vicinity is generally plenty of reason to be relieved - assuming that living soul is a friendly one. The guy approaching him is unfamiliar in just about every way, but he sounds earnest enough.

Not that Tim's prepared to simply trust something like that right off the bat. The flip-knife might be small and insignificant, but it's about all he's got, and at least he has it.

"I'm alive," says Tim, which, while accurate, is probably not the most potent vote of confidence. "You?"

[solperierat]

The knife is definitely not missed, but Ed just huffs and comes to a stop where he is. At least the guy isn't having a damn conniption about his horns or something.

"Eh, I don't remember dying recently, so that's something." He shrugs, tail flicking back and forth. "Been looking around for a while, but I haven't seen anything useful yet. Just a whole lot of sand and trees."

Edward pauses for a moment then, debating. The whole place does feel like a dream, the hows and whys of 'before here' vague and hazy. But he's been displaced before, and caution won't have any consequence other than feeling stupid as hell when he wakes up. "You don't happen to remember hopping on a boat to get shipwrecked in the first place, do you?"

[postictal]

A Horned King wasn't an unfamiliar sight, in the Castle in the Mist. He's mingled with talking skeletons, with goat children, with a million other peculiarities besides; a pair of horns isn't about to challenge a worldview that's more or less gone fluid out of necessity.

"No," he says with a short huff of a sigh. The last thing he remembers is the effort it took to die. "Feels kinda...I dunno."

It's probably just him. It usually is. Just Tim losing his mind yet again, falling to pieces, unable to figure out what's real and what isn't. Which is why his shoulders creep upward in a shrug, his chin bowing, before he adds:

"Feels like a dream."

[solperierat]

Ed watches Tim's demeanor with a faint crease of his brows, but shakes his head in agreement. Plenty enough about this to get a person feeling off-kiler; he can hardly blame the man.

"Yeah, it does. Not sure how much I trust the feeling, though." He takes one more step forward and holds out a hand--one that won't force Tim to lower his knife if he accepts the gesture. "I'm Edward. Probably best if we stick together for now, if you're willing."

[postictal]

A hand, extended in a clear gesture of greeting. He regards it vacantly for several long moments - remember, maybe, the last time someone held out a hand to him. The long, drawn-out whine of a whoopee cushion positioned beneath the table prefacing the start over they never really got around to enacting.

He takes his hand and shakes it, albeit tentatively.

"Tim." He leaves it at that. No one else needs to know his last name. "And...yeah, I guess we should. You're the first other actual person I've seen here."

[solperierat]

Ed nods with a small grin, though it quickly fades as he casts a look through the trees. "Yeah. Seen a few animals off in the distance, but no sign of anything bigger'n a dog. Not sure if I want it to stay that way or not, to be honest." Knowing Edward's luck, it'll wind up any natives are part of some stupid cult that has them tearing any newcomers to pieces as a sacrifice.

[postictal]

He'd ask if animal is meant to include Edward himself, but that'd be more than a little rude, and he's not about to peel back someone else's scabs without provocation. For all he knows, the horns and things are normal where the guy comes from.

"You have anything on you? Like...supplies, food, anything?" He's got his camera. His meds. His knife. His lighter.

At that point, the thread runs dry.

[solperierat]

Edward shakes his head, pulling his pockets inside out to prove the point. "Not a single damn thing. Do know how to rig up a shelter and catch meat, though, so that's something."

Plus he's probably way tougher than any animals roaming around, but that's another matter entirely.

[postictal]

Tim grunts faintly. Not surprising, but at least they're a little better of than he was anticipating. His grip on the knife shifts as the urge to offer it out to him wells in his gut - and he presses, stubbornly, back down. It wouldn't be wise. And it wouldn't...he just met the guy. Surely he can trust himself over someone he just met.

(That is him making that decision? Isn't it?)

"What's the last thing you remember? Before...this?"

[solperierat]

Ed huffs faintly, catching Tim's shifting grip on the knife but not sure if it was out of unease or something else. Either way, if he keeps his distance it shouldn't be an issue.

"Eh...I was leaving a friend's place in Bavan, getting ready to fly my way back to Vandare." Not going into the details of why he'd been staying there--he doesn't even know this guy, and quite frankly he wouldn't even want Heather knowing why Ginko had all but kidnapped him for those weeks. "You?"

[postictal]

Yeah, he's got no clue what any of those places are. They sound important, but nothing like those he'd be familiar with in the United States, or in the Castle. He's struck with the feeling that someone in the Castle would probably have a good idea, being generally more knowledgeable and worldly than some nobody from Alabama.

"Dying," he says shortly. No need to drag anyone else into it, but he's nothing if not frank. "'Least, I'm pretty sure that's what happened."

He got stabbed in the soul. You don't just get up and walk away from that.

[solperierat]

Blunt, without detail, and...entirely too relatable. Edward winces in sympathy, rubbing his neck awkwardly and glancing to the side.

"Well...unless I got run over by a speeding car before I knew it was coming, I'm pretty sure this isn't an afterlife, so...you've got that going for you?" Ugh, he's horrid at anything approaching comfort. "We should probably find some place to build a decent shelter, I can't tell if this is the type of place to dump rain out of nowhere or not. Quicker we get something set up is the quicker we can think about food."

[postictal]

Yeah, great. Instead of the sweet embrace of oblivion, he gets to deal with an Edenic island that's probably not half as nice as appearances would suggest. He knows how this works by now. Unfortunately.

"Saw some wrecks around the beach and stuff," mutters Tim, rubbing at the back of his neck with his free hand. "Might mean there's some kind of building or ruin or something we could use."

Easier than starting from scratch.