revivalprojectooc | Winter Test Drive Meme

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Winter Test Drive Meme

WINTER TEST DRIVE MEME
Application FAQ | Taken Characters | Reserves | Application

Welcome to the Current Test Drive for The Revival Project!

This game is a spin-off from the closed The Drift Fleet game. For more information about the game, including more details on the setting, please check out the FAQ here or the premise here.

A thread on the TDM will be required for all applications. Please view the FAQ for information about how this works. Any questions about the game please direct to the comment section of the FAQ as well.

If you are a Drift Fleet alumni bringing your character from the game, please label your character as 'DFAU' on your top level. Also, keep in mind you have complete flexibility on how your character comes here. They could be taken before endgame, after endgame, two years after, one year before, etc. It's up to you! If you want to completely restart your character, they're not considered DFAU anymore and won't need the label.

So go! Explore Agra 10! And, as always, HAVE FUN!

Thread ideas:

Winter in Temba and Sh'Ka

Winter has arrived on Agra 10 and with it its cold temperatures, sharp winds and, you guessed it, snow. It starts slow and gentle in Temba, but even such gentle snowfall tends to build up and over the course of a few days of constant snowfall, the city has been covered with a white, roughly knee-deep blanket - Unless someone actually remembered to keep some of the paths clear.

And it still keeps snowing.

Over in Sh'Ka, a similar picture has been painted. But being situated within all these tall trees paints a somewhat different picture. A more icy one. All the by now leaf-free trees are covered in a thick layer of ice, as are Sh'Ka's stone-carved buildings. The wind here is harsher than it is in Temba, which has been comparably wind-free.

Please try not to slip and hurt yourself while marveling at either city.

Explore ~~the city~~ Temba!

Here's a map of Temba and a bit more description of some of the buildings here.

Most of the buildings are run down and have clearly been abandoned for years; fortunately, the water treatment center appears to be working, but power is intermittent and unreliable. What used to be stores or places to live in lies in ruins, but there may still be something to scavenge among the rubble. Do you want to risk a swim in the flooded area that has turned into a deep lake that has yet to be fully explored; or does it draw you to some of the more prominent and partially restored buildings, such as the hotel, the hospital or the amphitheater.

If you are lucky, you might even stumble over The Deep End, the bar located on one of the mid-levels of the tower residences in one of the residence towers. Unfortunately no bright neon signs can lead you there, but it does exist.

Visit the spaceships!

That's right, there are currently several small spaceships sitting in the hangar. Not all of them may be around when you check out the building, as one of the pilots may be using one of them to fly over to Sh'Ka. But there should still enough of them around for you to inspect and maybe wonder about. However, only one of them will open its doors for you. Do you dare to step inside? Check out the protein paste or maybe even meet one of your crew mates?

Try the network!

Upon arrival, your character will have on their person a small, handheld communications device. Maybe they know exactly how to use a computer, smartphone, or tablet, and immediately blast out a text or video trying to figure out what's going on. Or maybe they're not so tech-savvy after all, and everyone is about to get a lovely shot right up your character's left nostril.

There be storms...

These power-altering storms keep ravaging parts of the planet every once in a while. No one truly knows where they come from or what to do about them yet, but one of them appears to be approaching. You have the option to find shelter in one of the buildings to wait for it to pass. Unless, of course, you rather feel drawn to investigate.

Should you step inside the storm, or even get lost in it, it will show ghosts of people you know and those you don't. It drains you of any super-human abilities and tries its best to keep you from getting to its origin. Are you going to try anyways? Or are you going to chase the whispers of people from your past? Maybe you will simply find yourself calling for help or stumble across another lost soul in need of assistance.

More information can be found here.

Wildcard!

You're welcome to use any previous test drive scenarios or previous game events as a basis for a thread/situation, or simply make up your own! Keep in mind that you're currently stranded on a planet with only basic necessities, but there is enough food and fresh water. Creature comforts, however, seem to be distinctly lacking. Quite unlike a gathering of potentially dangerous creatures to encounter. The setting is yours to explore and have fun with!

✧ Premise ✧ FAQ ✧ Rules ✧ Test Drive ✧ Taken ✧ Reserves ✧ Application ✧
✧ Map ✧ Devices & Network ✧ Data Points ✧ Ships ✧ Flora ✧ Fauna ✧ Supply Requests ✧ Calendar ✧
✧ Activity Check ✧ Player Plot Suggestion ✧ Player Contacts ✧ Player Permission Code ✧ Hiatus ✧ Drop ✧
✧ Navigation ✧

code bases by tricklet

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i. Winter

The undead have no notion of cold as a bad thing. Or rather, they associate it differently; with wolves and axes and hidden traps under the snow, which in the end is not terribly different from the rest of what they might experience. Colder, yes, but what is the cold of a biting wind? Not much, really, not to compare to death.

So, she wanders, avoiding roads, because roads mean people and people mean danger, always. Best to approach hazards sidewise, rather than by the expected way, when you have the choice, after all. Anyone wandering the wind-swept snows of the storm, whether Temba, Sh'ka, or otherwise, will see a figure in full plate armor, blue heraldry rimed in frost, moving with slow but dogged determination in no direction in particular. Perhaps the first you'll see of her is the rut she's leaving behind in the snow. Maybe you'll find yourself suddenly beset upon by a knight with sword drawn, or maybe you're lost too, and finding the one shadow in this snow that isn't a ghost...

Well. There she is. Better tell her not to stick you with that sword she's got, because the moment she sees you it's sheilds up, and let's have at it!

ii. Deep End
Just so, and she is slow to enter the bar, once she stumbles upon it, lingering in the snow outside the doorway, peering in. Every now and then, those inside might see a helmet and visor peering round the door, or someone leaving might see a strange set of armor half-buried in a snowdrift. But they don't go in, not yet, as if unsure of their welcome.

After all, there were reasons for undead to be exiled. And once she started to thaw out... someone might object. Or worse.

iii. Network
[There is a brief spinning, fumbling view, as if the person who had been holding the device had dropped it, then caught it again, partially obscuring the camera with their hand in the process. A moment, and the picture rights; shining armor, silver, partially frosted with— well, frost. The helm tips slightly to one side, light changing as it glints from the changing angles.]

Hello, there.

[The voice is light, feminine, slightly hoarse, and a little muffled.]

I've been listening. This is a strange way to leave messages, isn't it? There's no telling how far one might be from another. [She laughs. That is funny, isn't it?]

I'm... New, I think. It seems as if everyone simply chatters here, so I would like to ask; does anyone know of any particularly large monsters around here? Something really... grossly oversized. If you could tell me anything at all, I'd be very grateful. Thank you.

This is the atmosphere the warlord is more used to, the wintery white of snow coating things here, burying things there, making the way difficult but not untraversable. He knows where things are in spite of this, his lightly armored boots treading down the snow covered lanes, his greatcoat flapping loosely with each errant breeze. The cold itself does not bother him either, but then there may be a few things he would have in common with the newcomer.

He keeps near the edges of buildings and ruined walls, places that can be used for cover, a habit he will never break. It's also out of habit that he keeps his guard once he detects movement, spinning to turn his helmeted visage towards the stranger.

Felwinter is broad and tall and armored, with an air of something mighty that the world had torn at but could not truly topple. He appears out of the icy windshear like a looming cliff, titanic, steel-cold, desperately menacing. The snap of his coat and the uncanny nimble of his movements do not detract from the threat of him; to the contrary, in fact.

It's the usual thing, really. Though she be but small, she is not unaccustomed to facing a surprise or two, not around blind corners, or in open fields.

Sheilds up, sword in hand. Advancing only slowly, but with obvious intent, watching and waiting for him to make the first strike, at least until she is close enough to take the initiative on her own. Come on you big thing, you're just one more for the tally.

The evening light plays tricks, the darkening shadows adding to illusion, sharpening those twining horns, bleeding over the actuality of his bony shoulders and slighter form. He carries himself with a thinly masked confidence, and when he stops from his smooth movements, he is statue-still, the only movement generated by the building wind and the flurries it sends up and around them. It's only when she begins to move in that he keeps pace with her, keeping her in immediate sight.

It seems an unfair match, this unfamiliar face with a weapon, him without any, although his hand twitches at his side for the absence of his shotgun. But he is a Warlock, and being unarmed is an illusion in itself. He knows he has done nothing, and yet he understands this reaction, or he thinks he does. It's difficult here. People are different. No one has dared attack him, even when he has drawn swords of flame. Like himself, he cannot see the face beyond the helmet of this supposed opponent, can't tell if it's fear or simple distrust. His gloves creak slightly as he curls his fingers, balling his hands into loose fists.

Unfair or not, it's the kind of fight that there always is. The fact that he isn't immediately lunging at her is promising, but then his armor is imposing, unique in her experience, and highly unusual besides. There had been knights before, that stood and watched, and moved only suddenly— with overwhelming force. The silent menace of him persists.

Only the friendly speak. Those who mean harm, they are always silent.

"Oh come along then. C'mon," she says, in the manner of someone calling a recalcitrant cat. It's not a particularly loud voice, meant mostly for herself, but it's audible enough thanks to the echo chamber of her helm. It's good Astoran steel, you know, "C'mon now. We haven't all day."

Well, maybe he didn't. She was doing literally nothing else, if that's what it took to get past him. Such was her lot in life— and death. Undeath. At this point, flaming swords would be a relief, if only for the clear signal they gave. She sidesteps, a little closer now, a little closer, terse and tense and waiting.

Don't strike first. Don't do it. Not for mercy or fairness, no, none of that in Lordran; to strike first was to lose the advantage.

Ah, she speaks. It colors the otherwise faceless knight, confirms someone beneath the armor.

"...I do," the warlord replies simply, a correction, for he really doesn't have much to be doing himself. His voice is strange, perhaps an additional echo from his helmet, an electronic tinge. There's only the most minimal attempt at emotion injected into it, and with only two words, perhaps not very noticeable at all. He's stopped moving again, a dark pillar in the snow, silence falling again before his words chase it away again.

"Do you mean to strike me down?"

"Oh! You can speak!" The surprise of it raises her out of her ready crouch, that and some other emotion— delight, or curiosity, it's impossible to tell behind that impassive facade, "Are you not hollowed, then?"

But the sword-point does not waver. She's not a fool, even if she is an optimist.

"I should, really," she says, bright and clear and apologetic behind her worn blue shield, "But if you aren't willing to fight, then I suppose there's no reason for it. Are you friendly?"

The grilled helmet tilts to the side in curious fashion, putting a slight crack in the previously imposing facade. "Hollowed?" he echoes. His voice might sound a little hollow but he doesn't seem at all familiar with the term as the knight uses it.

Her following response is equally baffling to him, so contrasting with her perky tone. It's more than a little jarring. He's not even come across other warlords who have spoken in the same fashion. His fingers uncurl, palms out in placation.

"I am friendly so long as no one means to attack me," he says.

There is a brief, thinking pause. She straightens more fully, sheild dropping to the side, sword dipping a little. How odd, to find a friendly face in the middle of a blizzard. Granted, she'd met people in stranger places, but there really was something uncanny about it.

He could have tried to kill her. Or run away. Or anything at all. But he hasn't, so far.

"That seems fair enough," she agrees, nodding for his terms and, finally, sheathing her sword, "Perhaps we can chat a little while. It's a long time since I met anyone friendly."

She chuckles, as if this were funny. It's a joke, you see! Because there is no one friendly. So of course it would be a while! Very funny.

"What are you seeking out here, in the cold?"

That much his is aware of. But he does not kill without it being a necessary response, and although the knight had her weapon drawn, she had not attacked unprovoked. He especially knows to be more lenient in a place like this where all are strangers, uncertain of who can be trusted.

With her sheathing her weapon, the warlord allows himself to relax, if only slightly. But he's become more receptive to talk, and he can relate to the sentiment of there being very little friendly folk- although here everything went against what he had become so used to. People willing to look out for each other, help and be helped, whereas the powerful would trample the weak and people took what they could, as they pleased, back where he had come from.

Her joke as it were goes over his head, but he does offer an almost hesitant nod at her suggestion of chatting. As though reminded of the cold, he cranes his head to glance around their surroundings. In warmer weather the empty and ruined buildings were barely welcoming, now coated in winter they look all the more bleak and abandoned.

"Wood for the fire, or perhaps I shall come upon some sort of creature that others may find useful for food or its furs. I did not expect to come upon someone new to the city, but I do not think I am wrong in assuming such of you."

"Oh, that might be so. You would surely know better than I," she's not going to argue with someone who calls her new. After all, she might very well be! Or, she might not. Certainly there was nothing specifically familiar here...

...but then, did that mean anything, really?

It's his comment about the fire that draws her attention most, however. Wood? Or course she knew wood would burn; torches and furniture, homes, tar, and trees, these things all burned. They burned especially if you set fire to them. But the idea of a fire, for fire's own sake, built from wood strikes her as inexpressibly strange. When had she last been warmed by a woodfire? It had been...

It had been so.... so long since...

The shudder is full-body, and therefore somewhat noticeable, given her unsubtle attire. No, best not to think of that. There's no light down that road. Move along, girl!

"You really musn't be hollowed then, nor your companions. We undead have our own kind of fire, after all, but I think it wouldn't give much comfort to others. I wonder how you came to be here, so far from anyplace safe."

Even that response strikes him as strange, but he nods all the same. He hasn't been here as long as some, but he feels it's been long enough that he's familiar with those who have been, and this is the first time he'd been confronted by anyone outright brandishing their weapon.

"...are you cold?" He mistakes her shudder as from the weather, and certainly he knows armor doesn't really do much for keeping one warm. "I can show you where there is shelter. This area is not as inhabited, but there are not many in this city to fill it."

It's when she speaks of undead that he pauses visibly. Again his helmet tilts, less curious, more cautious. "You are Risen?"

"Oh. No. I'm alright. It's... only... I really couldn't explain it," again that bright, apologetic tone, very nearly embarrassed, "I suppose I don't feel it much, after so long. Best way is to keep moving, isn't that right?"

Of course it is! Move and keep moving, and neither the cold nor the dark can catch you. Just like all the rest. And when one finds refuge, well then that is where to stop, and no sooner. There was such a thing as too much of what's good for you, after all.

You are Risen?

"Ah. Yes, there is that. We are a bit outcast aren't we? I don't blame you for hesitating, it's often harder to find a hollow who isn't dangerous. Not that I'm exactly safe, myself," The smile is evident in her voice, ending on the little cough of a giggle as it does. She'd just been brandishing a sword at him, he'd be a fool to think of her as safe, "It's really best I keep moving, just the same. But it was lovely to meet someone sane. I hope we shall meet again! And if ever you have need of help, I should be glad to lend a hand, if I'm able."

Edited 2022-01-03 05:26 (UTC)

Risen don't seem to be as bothered by the cold, even if it doesn't make them impervious to it. He can accept this explanation, or at least the vague attempt at it, and being one who holds his own secrets close, the warlord lets it go easily rather than press for answers.

"Yes, that is the best alternative," he agrees, even if the cold doesn't bother him at all. Her confirmation is so casual, almost refreshingly so, but then most Risen were warlords and if they weren't meaning to make you join them then they were set to kill you. At least that much tracks as she adds in the reminder that she's not safe to be around. Strange woman indeed.

"Very well." If she insists on roaming on her own, then he won't hold her back. Besides, if she is Risen like him, then there is little to threaten her. Her offer catches him by surprise, further reminder of the unusual circumstances despite the almost familiar encounter. He nods at her then, turning to point past the shadowy silhouettes beyond them.

"Undoubtedly you will find your way around, but if you tire of the cold sooner, you can find the city square and others in that direction." A pause. "...my name is Felwinter. If you seek aid, I am also willing to assist."

Felwinter. It suits him very well, with the snow-wind wrapped around him like a cloak, and the cold seeming to live in his voice as much as in the world all around. She nods, noisily, to indicate her acceptance.

"Felwinter. I will not remember it," She admits it ruefully, "I have been seeking my fate for a long time, and I am not what I once was. But I will write it down, and I will try. And I may remember you, even if not your name. Felwinter."

She thinks she would recognize him. But then, that was the way of the undead, wasn't it? Oh, it's you! the common greeting at the bonfire, and no names needed in the dead land of the undying gods. What use were names anyways? You were either a friend, or you were not. That was what mattered.

"So it is a pact!" She is delighted, even to the point of clapping her gauntleted hands together, though only briefly, "We shall be friends, and help one another, in the spirit of jolly cooperation— as they say."

Who is they? Don't you worry about it.

"If you would like, you may call me Eva, of Astora. It's quite alright if you don't remember it. No one calls an undead by name, anyhow."

"I do not think any Risen are," Felwinter says solemnly. Whatever they once were, he means. He interprets her response as a generalization, for then Risen of his world seem to either be lost or to have become ruthless. Seeking one's fate... He supposes that's something he is still doing, himself.

Friends... He does not have these, back home, on the cold peak that he's named after himself. There is no one he trusts, there. But here is not there, and these people are not those.

"Eva. I shall remember it," he promises, even though she has blatantly admitted the same might not be so towards him.

She looks at him a moment longer, quiet and small in the snow, with rime forming at the gaps of her visor, then simply turns away and begins to walk, without so much as a goodbye. Hopefully he doesn't require one, because in that one moment Felwinter has gone from conversational partner to no more than scenery, to be abandoned without apology, and thought of no more.

Or at least, not today.

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Winter Test Drive Meme

The Chosen Undead | Dark Souls

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