sixthiteration | Test Drive 21 (October & November)

→ Holds and applications are always open. Holds are required for all applications.

→ Choose one of the scenarios below or make up your own. Feel free to try multiple scenarios.

→ Write LOGS or TEXT prompts, or both.

→ THERE ARE ONLY THREE RULES FOR THE TDM:

1. It has to take place in the 6I universe.
2. It cannot be the character's arrival into the game.
3. Please only test new characters who do not have a version in the game. Our cast list is here.

→ TDM threads cannot be used to meet AC, but if the character is accepted into the game and both players agree, you may keep the CR.

→ Character want ads are here.

Prompts

STAYING POWER - Go down to the bunker, they said. You can get yourself amazing powers from the vending machine, they said. Well, you've done that, and you've made your choice, but one thing nobody told you was that unless it's a power you're familiar with, you might be on a teensy bit of a learning curve when it comes to keeping it under control. You have a week to figure it out without killing anyone; have fun!

FORGIVE AND... - You poor thing, you've gotten into some dust moths. Not that you can remember that, because depending on how big that swarm was and how quickly you got out of it, you might not remember much at all. Better hope somebody's got some Forget Me Nots on hand.

HIT & RUN - Life in the village can be pretty sleepy... until suddenly, it's not. Were you being a troublemaker? Were you disturbing the local wildlife? Because it's now disturbing you, chasing you down the street in front of everyone. Maybe it's a herd of chupapaca or a swarm of fireflies. Or maybe you went old school and it's just a really pissed off badger. Godspeed and good luck.

WILDCARD - Choose your own adventure. Maybe play powers roulette.

Texts

All characters are fitted with a smart watch-like device on their left wrist, which they can use to send text messages to other villagers.

- Texts may only be 140 characters long
- No video or voice, text only
- Display names may be changed by characters on the fly, but anyone can tap to see someone's real full name

Please list your CHARACTER NAME, CANON & PROMPT in your SUBJECT LINE.

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"What do I look like, an alien animal expert? It can't climb a tree, so I assume it'll wander off!" She may have sounded like she had a clue; Hawke was excellent at that. She may as well be an expert on it. The familiar language made the final piece of the puzzle lock into place. She knows exactly who this is, and she can almost hear Varric's impression of him in her head. She certainly knows the description well; her dwarf has a marvelous way with words. She sighs and mourns the use of her arrows, since she'll likely have to make more now.

"Dorian, climb high enough to be over its head." Hawke is an expert at hunting, and also at staying alive, so she dives back out of the way of the animal. An arrow is set loose on the other knee. She'll cut them all if she needs to. It seems upset now, which is just typical. "It does not take a genius!" She's certainly not one. When it seems to recover from the second arrow and paws at the ground, Hawke gives up and runs right past Dorian. Hopefully he'll keep up. She at least knows where all the good trees are.

Hawke is not new to people tailing her. In fact, one might even say it's a hobby of others. She spent so much time on the run now, looking over her shoulder, that she just sighs when she realizing it's happening again. This place wasn't supposed to have so much trouble hanging on it, but who knows. She has met a timid thing or two here, who might be hesitant to approach. She puts her hands temporarily on the knife at her hip, letting it go on for a bit before swinging around.

"Alright, let's have it. Who's out there? If you aren't here to kill me, I'll give you something to eat."

It's just as well Hawke, and it was Hawke, he was certain of it, gave up the assault on the beast. Dorian was having embarrassingly little luck climbing higher than the lowest branches and finds his way to the ground much more easily than he did even the lowest boughs. He straightens his jumpsuit as he falls in with her. There was no pride in running, certainly, but even less so in getting trampled and gored by a rabid whatever that was due to sheer arrogance. He'd save his fall for something with a bit more flair, thank you very much.

When they'd found the thicket, he groaned and took a deep breath before jumping for a low-hanging and hopefully sturdy branch. Oh, thank the Maker it held! He was breathing hard as he pulled himself up, but he was out of harm's way for now.

"Hawke." He paused for a moment to catch his breath and to give the commentary the proper amount of brevity. "That may have been the worst rescue I've ever seen." And by that, he means thank you, of course.

"Yeah, I've got it. " She doesn't spare any further words, depositing him and pivoting in order to see where the creature is now. She tears off to the side, drawing its attention.

It turns a slow arc and picks up speed, throwing it's head with a snort. 7 pivots again, then streaks towards it. In the last moment it shovels it's head up with an intent to ram her, but she's quick and deft. A foot planted on its snout, she uses the momentum of its attack to vault into the air, twisting around like a cat and swiping a downward arc with her spear across its neck.

She lands on its back and slides off as it stumbles and gurgles. Unused to such things like blood, death gurgles, and other problems biological creatures had to deal with that she missed as a little doll, she watches for a couple moments with disgust before turning away in a quiet sort of horror. She spins her spear around to inspect the end, frowning at the blood and gore. She's have to wipe it off somehow.

She looks at Dorian. "Are you alright?"

Instinct and the innate need to be away from danger while he typically hurls fireballs at it keeps Dorian at a safe distance, but he stays close enough to watch 7's display, eyebrows raising, impressed with how deftly she defeats the creature. Her reaction isn't lost on him, though, and his surprise turns to curiosity as he approaches once the creature has finished twitching, brushing off his clothing and straightening his sleeves.

"Yes, quite. Not a drop of blood on me. Most impressive." He smooths a hand over his mustache and his hair before dipping his shoulders in a slight bow. "Dorian of House Pavus. You're rather handy with that improvised weapon of yours, and now you've gone and provided a fine roast for the lot of us this evening. A splendid turn of events, really. I'm still breathing, you're not drenched in gore."

Hawke on the other hand has absolutely no trouble scaling a tree. She wouldn't go to the top, and she's had several undignified falls, but saving her own skin always has a way of bringing out the most competent in her. She sits comfortably on a branch across from him, peering down as the animal stalks around beneath, but doesn't try to go after them or push into the tree. This isn't her first escape from an animal in these parts.

Her eyebrows raise at Dorian and she snort-laughs. "You know, I did have a moment of wondering if I should sit back and watch you try to handle it on your own. But then I thought Bull would be quite put out with me, and he's the only current Qunari who probably doesn't want me dead. Actively." Hawke's reputation is earned, and it has little to do with Varric's tales. He blew a few out of proportion and lessened others. She props her legs up on the branch for now.

Yes, well, from the look of it, Dorian would be getting plenty of practice climbing trees to escape maddened wildlife. Maker, he'd have to learn how to use something to defend himself. He was not some damsel in need of constant saving. He would not be. He keeps an eye on the creature below, but thankfully, it doesn't seem as bull-headed as the man Hawke had just mentioned. Small blessings and all that.

Still, there's a ping of something almost like hope in the pit of his stomach at the news. He isn't alone, at least not as alone as it had seemed. He isn't certain how he could have missed the lummox, but there it is. "So long as you have not murdered a house full of innocent children recently, I doubt you've incited the Bull's wrath, but I am in your debt." A mischievous smirk teases the corner of his lips as he looks from the prowling thing below to her. "I'll send 'round a fruit basket."

Jacob listens, and he stares. Certainly he speaks of times and places that are not Jacob's own but the more they go, the clearer it becomes. About what he has been through, what he has devoted himself to. It sobers Jacob a little, more than being grabbed had done.

"They say..." Damn, he really has no way of telling him this. "They say there is no way to fight your way back. They may send you, but you can't get out of here by your choice," he says, tensing as he makes that admission.

He holds up both hands in placation. "No shooting the messenger. It's worth still trying, but it will be a hard battle. Perhaps one we can't win."

There's a beat of hesitation, and then the shadows give way as 7 eases out of her hiding spot behind a couple decorative bushes. She's moving slowly, with uncertainty, and a whole lot of wariness. In her hands and definitvely positioned to keep a certain distance is a spear cobbled together from found items. 7 isn't sure where she got it, or who made it, but she hasn't let go of it for as far back as she can remember - which, at this point, isn't much.

She eyes the woman. She'd couldn't place why she'd felt it important to follow her, but now that the stealth was broken off, she felt anxious and listless, and she didn't like it.

"Do you know who I am?"

She spins the spear around and jams it into the ground, with the hopes of having the dirt clear away some of the muck on the end of it, as well as keep it stationary for a moment. She does have some splatter on her and is trying to wipe it off, but it's sticky and gets everywhere. Reminds her of grease.

She stops as she watches his - to her - grand introductions."7." It's a name, really. "Were you trying to hunt it too?"

If not, she's curious what he intended to accomplish earlier.

It is the snorting and general noise that draws Bull's attention first. He is out in the woods to gather more firewood and that is a lucky thing because it means he has a nice big axe with him. Once he hears what sounds like someone talking he just sets of into a run towards the sounds. He can't think of many people in the village that can stand a chance against one of the bigger beasts here.

Wait fuck. He knows that voice. A cold feeling grips his stomach and he runs faster, moving to intercept, well honestly crash into, the beast. "How about you pick on someone your own size?"

Oddly, these words were the ones that placed a blanket of calm over his shoulders, his chin raising with a deep confidence that came from his soul as much as his mind. True enough that he wore no hood, carried no blade, but in that moment it could be no plainer that he was not a man who needed them. Years of training, decades of adversity. Both had given him complete certainty in himself, in his abilities, and in his devotion to this cause. His eyes gleamed yellow and he looked to Jacob's, unflinching.

"I am used to hard battles," he said. And then, voice quieter but heavy with steel, he went on: "The name of Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad has been known and respected for years. A world apart, it will be again. We are Assassins. And we will keep the worlds free."

Being a man who generally ops for a blade attached to the end of his staff for those times in which enemies come too close for comfort or for the preparation of a spell, Dorian knows from experience dust does little to clear blood from a blade. If anything, it would only dirty the weapon more, but he wasn't about to lecture his savior on the proper care of weaponry. He'd leave that up to some warrior type.

Instead, he arched an eyebrow at the given name, but he isn't going to judge her for it, of course. He does know a man who calls himself 'the Iron Bull', after all. Instead, he chuckles slightly self-consciously at her question, giving a gentle shake of his head.

"Quite the opposite, it would seem. I was minding my own business when this beast seems to have taken offense. Do I look like a hunter to you?"

There are something equal parts infuriating and relieving at hearing the somewhat thundering charge he's come to associate with the Iron Bull. Infuriating because the lummox intercepted this rampaging moose-beast as though he were some sort of damsel in distress, which he most is not, and relieved because it means there is suddenly a rather stalwart and large wall between him and a gored death at the hands of this oddly armored monstrosity.

Someone its own size, indeed, he thought as the Bull bodily stepped between them. He didn't care, of course. Admittedly, at least to himself, it was more a comfort than an annoyance to be saved by the Iron Bull. It also did silly little teasings to his stomach, an excited flutter that made his breath catch momentarily. Well, now, that was unacceptable.

He tilted his head back, chin high, and covered his excitement with annoyance. "Appropriate, but you're late. Aren't you supposed to be a bodyguard?"

"The Inquisitor isn't here, Vint" But there is a fondness in the slur that is easy to catch. He steps back and to the side, drawing the beast away from Dorian. "A fireball would come in handy if you have one..." He grumbles as he dances with the beast, barely avoiding its horns while he swings his axe for its head.

The fight is short, thankfully, and soon enough the groffle is on the ground, with Bull standing over it holding his side. The beast managed to get him good before he brought it down and now he is holding his side. "What did you do to this guy?"

He didn't have a fireball handy, or a barrier, or any other thaumaturgical demonstration that would have been beneficial, and it was that deficit that had wounded the Bull. He didn't know who he was even to blame for the shortcoming, but he's beginning to think he should have listened to Cullen when he'd suggested Dorian learn some form of combat. Needless, he'd thought at the time. Foolish was now the opportune turn of phrase.

A Dorian who feels useless is a rather annoyed Dorian, but one who feels responsible for another's hardship is a different beast altogether. He moves to the Bull's side, batting away his hand. "Crossed too closely, it would seem. I certainly wasn't hunting the beast. Now let me see what it's done to you."

Bull grunts slightly as Dorian comes close and he is about to protest but on the other hand this is Dorian and he is right, the beast did wound him. He lifts the hand slightly and looks down. There is a gash, but not too deep. As long as they get the bleeding stopped and kept clean from infection it shouldn't cause any issue beside another scar.

"I have a hard time imagining you hunting anything but some good wine." He reaches out with his other hand to pull Dorian into a hug. "When did you get here?"

"I'll have you know I camped, alone, in the Hinterlands for weeks before the Inquisitor found her way to Redcliffe." It had been a painfully cold, miserable time and he'd welcomed the ability to join her and the Inquisition in Skyhold, even to spite all the death glares and spitting at his feet. At least one could light a fire without concern it would draw the attention of Templars or rebel mages.

He wasn't in possession of a healer's kit or anything so useful (another note for later or next time) but he did have a bit of cheese in his pocket wrapped in linen, which he unwrapped now, pressing the cloth to the wound and takes Bull's hand, pressing it over the cloth. "Hold this here. We should return to the village, it will need a good cleaning and proper binding."

Satisfied the lummox wouldn't bleed out for the time being, he steps away enough that craning his head to look up at the man wouldn't cause too much discomfort. "A day ago. I wanted to see what the local environs entailed. I didn't expect the local fauna to take such offense."

It only occurs to her now that Dorian being here means he has no magic. To Hawke, nothing really changed, she has no magic to speak of as Bethany got all those talents in the family. But it's been on her mind that Bethany would hate being there without them now, and Dorian probably even more so. Hawke softens toward him just a tad at that thought. She is, after all, a strong mage sympathizer. For all the good it did her.

"Hmmm, no. I've killed a great many things, but not them. Besides, I've been in the Fade, not creating mischief for once." Hawke shrugs, and that's generally been her reaction to her certain death and then odd rescue to this place. What else could she do? Not get mushy about it. "Did Varric mention that food is the way to my loyalty? He won me over with gold, violence, and food." It is an oversimplification of the closest friendship she has, but she prefers rounding things up that way. "I'm sorry, by the way. About the lack of magic. I can't imagine what that's like."

"And do you?" Asked with a pointed look at the machines around them. "I admit, they're a bit beyond most things I knew, though I've seen something a bit like them. If you know though, please do share."

Not even with the sarcasm as before, but truly curious to learn just how all of this works.

"Seven, huh? Unique name. I admit, I like that. Something a person can really remember." He nods though. "The stove, definitely. It's not horrible, but I have worked it out. But only the ones in the Inns, the ones in the homes don't work. Least not that I've seen."

"Yeah, no, seems to be mine now," he says, smirking at him as he runs his hands down it, imagining for a moment how that would feel along Vasquez's chest and not his own.

He may not be ready to admit it, and in his mind he never will be, but he's glad for these moments still. He's been positive after the battle they'd never happen again. One way or another.

His eyes stay closed for a long moment, feeling it hit his system. Feeling it spread as he lifts the bottle and takes one more, smaller, drink. Just enough to take the edge off how tight he feels wound, how empty his veins feel. How sober the world is. That's the hardest part for him.

"Okay then. Sure. Lead on," he says, holding tight to the bottle and shifting to try and take the lit smoke from Vasquez.

Forgive and...

Why was it always memory loss?

If he was quicker to laugh, he would be very amused. But instead he frowned, thinking hard, hoping he could remember what he was out in the forest to do. There had to have been a reason--he didn't exactly go for leisurely walks. He could remember that much, as well as his name, his past, and even what he had for breakfast that morning.

He even could remember he must have touched up against a dust moth, but not what had brought him here in the first place or when he had come in contact with the obnoxious insect.

He sighed and rubbed his forehead with a hand. Pure force of will would allow him to remember what he needed to do. He would not fail...whoever had asked him to do whatever it was. Nevermind that he had been wondering in these woods for longer than he could remember.

More importantly, he was going to find some way to never lose his memory again.

Rinoa was pretty certain that she shouldn't be trusting any of the plants until told otherwise, but she felt like she was accomplishing nothing just walking around. Her hands had to stay busy. She had to gather something as proof that she could contribute to a situation way outside of her expertise. But she looked from one to the other and thought about how much worse it would be if she brought back something poisonous.

She sighed and ran fingers through her hair, starting to turn around head back to the village. Only to see a familiar form she'd know from miles away. "Squall!" Her mood lifted and she started to walk toward her, an echo from a distance at the moment, and walked right into a couple of dust moths. Wrinkling her nose, Rinoa waved them out of her face, coughing as she breathed right in their powder in the process. She kept walking, because she was ....

She was going somewhere. To someone. She'd been doing something else. Oh no, not again. This was familiar, but at least she was in charge of her own limbs. Rinoa was definitely moving, but to where, she couldn't remember. She stopped where she stood, dark eyes blinking away the last residue of powder. She hovered there in indecision, too distracted to look up from where she was to see him now.

Modesty is for people who have something to be modest about. Clearly, nothing that applies to either them, fine specimens that they are.

"An entire planet, yes, that's the best way of looking at it. The short answer to your other question..." He trails off a moment, almost hesitant, and tips his head back to look at the sky, as if searching for something that he knows will not be there.

"'Catastrophic magic', I suppose. The long answer is... very long indeed, a tale of gods, and heroes, and villains." He gestures broadly, flicking a bit of water dramatically from the ends of his fingers. It obligingly glitters in the pale sun. "Deeds both noble and dark, good and evil, et cetera, and so on... you get the idea."

Oh, will you look at that, what an excellent idea! Loki goes easily with the pull, and picks up speed again, long legs eating ground and easily keeping pace.

"That looks like a good idea," he comments, voicing the thought aloud, since even under normal circumstances telepathy isn't exactly his strong point. Oh, he can manage if he has to, or wants to, but it takes a spell, unlike his more normal and natural abilities.

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Page 18 of 39

Test Drive 21 (October & November)

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Forgive and Forget

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Cw: gore, creature death

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Hit and Run

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Squall Leonhart | Final Fantasy

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Sorry for the delay; internet's been down

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