countryclub | July Test Drive Meme!

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meme: tdm

July Test Drive Meme!

JULY 2022 TDM

Another month, another test drive meme! Our test drive memes are open to anyone interested - regardless of whether or not you join our game!

All Test Drive Memes are game canon. Players can choose to keep their TDM threads canon or not. TDM threads can be used for AC and can be used as your writing sample for your application.

Our TDMs serve as a way to build into the actual lore and worldbuilding of Deer Country and we strongly encourage everyone to enjoy and participate! Current players are always welcome to pull prompts from the TDM to reference on the Network or bring into logs as well as tag out to new characters top-leveling on the TDM itself.

Characters will always be able to actively die during TDMs as this is an extremely dangerous world. You can still have this be game canon! Check out how character death in Deer Country works here.

If you have any questions about the TDM, please ask down below!

IMAGE DESCRIPTORS IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE
Prompt One
[Image One: Colorful paper lanterns shaped like jellyfish lit up and hovering in the air. ]
[Image Two: A person with long hair wearing a crown dedicated with shells and rocks. ]

Prompt Two
[Image One: A GIF of waves breaking roughly out in the middle of the ocean. ]
[Image Two: Strong waves crashing into a lighthouse and rocks. ]

Prompt Three
[Image One: A large Ningen (a sea creature that is half human, half monster, and has no face except for a large slit for a mouth) towering over a deep sea diver. ]
[Image Two: A person standing out on the rocks with their arms out stretched as the tentacles of a large sea monster wave in the air above the ocean. ]

[NAVIGATION]

TDM Questions • Reserves • Taken • Applications • Full Navigation

[Jump to Comments]

STANDARD ARRIVAL

WHEN: August
WHERE: The Farther Shores/The Boardwalk
CONTENT WARNINGS: N/A

You're one of the lucky ones. Your journey is smooth sailing and you wind up exactly where you're supposed to: on the Farther Shores. You grow out of your squid body without a hitch, either with the help of another Sleeper or one of the Wakers, and you get to discover this new world. All new Sleepers might take some time to find their bearings. It might be tricky to remember how to use your body parts the way you're supposed to. You might stumble around the beach or forget how to talk - but don't worry! It'll come back to you sooner or later.

Hopefully, you've found something to wear, either in your Welcoming Bag or otherwise, and can start familiarizing yourself with your surroundings. Maybe you help some other squids out on the beach. Waking up sucks! You feel for the little guys. And hey, maybe you're hoping one of those squids is a good friend...Stranger things have happened.

SEASONAL DETAILS ON THE BOARDWALK
This month has an entire festival dedicated to Mariana. The people of Trench seem to be quite enamoured with her, despite her often cruel and unpredictable behaviors. The festival has gone all out with decorations. The boardwalk will be lined with lanterns in the shape of various sea creatures, such as jellyfish, dolphins, seahorses, and (of course) squids! These lanterns will be lit every night throughout the month and will burn through the night. They are bright beacons to a month that is otherwise becoming more and more gray and chilly as time passes.

The people of Trench are also decked out for the occasion. Blues and greens are the popular color choices for outfits, and many people will even decorate their hair with pieces from the ocean. Whether it's with full headpieces that are worthy enough for mermaids or just something as simple as weaving shells into a braid, everyone seems to have something on them that ties them to the sea. There are stalls set up to help newcomers (or oldies who just want to have some fun) decorate their hair as well and face paint for those who want to go the extra mile.

The festival comes with all sorts of celebrations that can be partaken in at absolutely no cost. There are food vendors, though they seem to be short on seafood this month. Likely it's due to the rough seas with waves so treacherous that not even the most skilled of sailors seems to be able to get out into them. They'll remark on how difficult is must have been to swim to shore in those awful waves. So instead of fish and shrimp, there are other sea-dedicated dishes: seaweed salad, noodle dishes made with seaweed broth, caramelized chicken in a fish and ginger sauce, etc. There are also ocean themed desserts, such as cupcakes with blue frosting shaped to look like a great wave. There are games such as dunk tanks, dart balloons, ring tosses, and other typical carnival entertainment. If you can think of it, it's probably there. At the end of the night, there's often a fireworks display over the rolling waves.

[JUMP TO TOP] • [JUMP TO COMMENTS]

rough seas and high winds

WHEN: Last Week of July, First Week of AugustT
WHERE: Beach and Nearby Oceans
CONTENT WARNINGS: Threat of drowning, severe weather phenomena, Environmental hazards, possible death

For some reason, Mariana is particularly wrathful even as the month begins. Even leaking into the end of the month of July, the sea begins to foam and rage in ways that are almost impossible to imagine. As you stare out int the beachheads, you may see vast waves and surf that would daunt the most professional of surfers. Water crashes into each other in colossal spouts. Waterspouts can be seen as storms occasionally buffet the coastline and just out into the ocean itself. However, the one thing about this chaotic energy is that it is just that, chaotic. One moment the sea may be calm, and the next it is a roiling, seething force out to destroy everyone.

This is, naturally, dangerous for those who are just hapless squids trying to reach shore. They may find themselves inexorably being flung towards sharp rocks and shoals, threatened with being dashed upon the stone near to the coast, or they may find themselves constantly swirling in eddies and whirlpools to the point of near exhaustion. However, they are not the only ones so threatened. Even those on the coast are in near constant danger of being washed right back out to see by an unexpected wave and sudden rip-tide. There are wood planks and other detritus to grab hold of, but it is very much a battle for one's life out there!

The sea's rage, the locals say, is because Mariana is particularly incensed over something that occurred. They do not know what exactly, but many have said that sleepers have felt a particular brunt of this ire lately. For now, it is a game of survival and a constant battle to bring people in safely.

Notes:
-Any natural weather occurrence is possible in the first week of August and last of July. Seemingly impossible combinations may occur (A waterspout in the middle of the eye of a hurricane, almost anything.
-These threats will be upon anyone who is not far enough inland to enjoy the festivities. The beach is not truly safe and sleepers are hustled inland quickly.
-Death is possible, though sleepers who die in the ocean find themselves returning very quickly as squids for some reason, within 24 hours, only to be threatened again before they eventually find shore.

[JUMP TO TOP] • [JUMP TO COMMENTS]

of monsters in the water

WHEN: Throughout August
WHERE: The coast and waterways
CONTENT WARNINGS: Monster Horror, Possibly Getting Eaten, Threat of bodily harm, Unnatural Physiology, Existential Dread

Something has been dredged up from the deep by the storms that rage. It is said that Mariana not only presides over the oceans, but also the most powerful monsters that dwell within the deep. Some of these, it is believed, may be the remains of Pthumerians whose minds and lives were lost during the hard times before, or the spawn of their mating with things other than humans. Whether these rumors are true, eldritch things have begun to emerge from the depths and darkness, things best left unseen.

Throughout the month of August, it is possible to encounter creatures that can only be described as monsters emerging from the water. With every passing storm, another emerges. Some are as large as small kaiju, while others are closer to human size, and each shares very little in common with the others, save for two particular details. The first of these is that they are all aquatic in nature and bear at least a passing similarity to sea monsters of ancient legend or particularly large and dangerous aquatic animals. Giant cuttlefish, Megalodons, Plesiosaurs, Octopi, Sea Cucumbers, Whales, or any of a number of other sea creatures appear to be their basis. The other similarity, however, is that all are hideously and grotesquely deformed. Tentacles, second rows of teeth, great clawed hands and feet enabling them to walk on dry ground, a thousand eyes all over the hump of a hunchback whale all shooting laser beams in the full moon, almost anything seems to be possible, though the changes are all chtonically horrendous in nature.

These creatures are violent, dangerous, and horrifying to behold. Just looking at them jars the mind and threatens to damage one's psyche while they try to understand what they are seeing. Bones are in seemingly impossible angles, bodies moving in ways that they shouldn't. Just looking at them can cause nausea, vertigo or mental breaks, though the danger does not stop there. They are agents of chaos, seeking to destroy mind or body, on a rampage whenever they reach ground, though they do not delve far into Trench beyond the waterways and beach, almost as if they are prevented by something. When one strays too close, an ominous light glows from the tops of the tallest spires in the city and they are inevitably repelled, but until they are killed or sent back to the deep from whence they came, they remain a threat outside of the city.

[JUMP TO TOP]

CODING

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Washing Up

cw: almost drowning, nudity

He doesn't particularly like the ocean. Something that still disturbs his dreams to this day happened on a ship. That death and the vengeance that followed brought him no peace. So, it is with these troubled thoughts this Sleeper awakens. He does not remember a shipwreck, the likeliest explanation of being tossed about in stormy waters. Rather, he knows he is meant to be here, somehow, or at least, the prospect of reaching shore seems the thing to be doing.

Who he is and what he does are twined too tight together. How can he be anyone or anything but himself? The tawny man with short-cropped dark hair forms too soon from a squid and flounders in the waves too far from shore. His limbs remember their shape, climber's muscle corded over tall limbs, but not how to move. He flails one hand (its ring finger was removed years ago) above the water.

Altaïr, Assassin, master of stealth and the blade, cannot swim.

Spires

ooc: Let me know if you just want to skip to reaching the top pending mod answer. We can also segue to exploring fast travel Lamp Friends instead.

He was going to climb the tallest towers anyway to begin getting to know the city, looking for specific things not found on maps. When a strange ominous light glows from them, he becomes curious, and curiosity lends this task (not a dare or a lark, a task) more urgency. Though they outstrip the highest structures he knows back home in the 12th century, he's ready for a challenge if he can find any places to rest in the process of his ascent.

On a less crowded street, he casts a scrutinizing gaze up the side of the building. He could start here--Ah, someone is looking at him. He's used to getting looks because he carries blades.

"Magnificent," he says matter-of-factly to explain his staring, indicating the vertical reach of the spire with a subtle flourish of his right hand, before turning away.

Paleblood Malfunction: Amplified Hallucinations

ooc: If you would like a different kind of paleblood malfunction, let me know!
cw: uncontrollable* hallucinations to himself and others

Stranded in a new land, of course he thinks of home. Visions bloom before his eyes, laid over what he sees. These phantom images pulled from his memories wisp through the air around him without a care for who sees them: a far-off mountain fortress studded with red flags, the close crowds of a souk in arid summer, a harbor bustling with sailing ships festooned with medieval flags all the way from Europe... They are faint, but rich in detail. He's always had a meticulous eye.

It would seem he has gone mad.

With the benefit of years of training, he quells his breathing and wills his face to be calm. Perhaps this is just a side effect of coming into contact with a certain object, and he will figure out a way to manage it. For safety's sake, he leans against a wall in a still, unobtrusive manner designed to slip beneath notice.

People still look at him, around him, marveling at the conjurations. He swallows and hastily excises all thoughts of home by concentrating on a few well-known landmarks in Jerusalem where he conducted some of his work. There is the Al-Aqsa Mosque, within sight of the shining Dome of the Rock...

This is a fine way to find out his blood type.

Archaic Archives

He suspects he was allowed inside the building with all his blades due to the local guards (Hunters) frequently requiring information on Beasts. Still, as in the library at home, he surmises and agrees that blades are forbidden to be drawn here.

Altaïr has more scholarly pursuits. He's ensconced himself at a table and is dipping his qalam into an inkwell to scrawl notes right to left on sheaves of paper (in Classical Arabic). He's in his hooded robes. White is less practical in this world, but he is attached to things from home.

His Omen, inky-black smoke-and-blood in the shape of a martial eagle, is perched on the leather at his shoulder. Ruya turns her head to stare imposingly at anyone nearby. The man does not move or look up, only pauses in his reading or writing.

Several books lay open with titles such as The Walled Garden of the Mind, Optics: Illusion and Its Angles, On the Interpretation of the Dream, and Errors of the Sight. A few non-Sight books about the world as well: On Dreams of Beasts, Catalogue of Corruption and Its Symptoms, and Trench: North and South.

If a person wants these books, it will be a while.

ooc: Wildcard?

TeaMergency or PM

Maria has been united with the unusual bag containing her clothing and a number of other items she has yet to sort through, and it's welcome enough that she won't yet question the convenience of it. In her head, she knows that washing ashore naked only to find her own dry tunic and trousers waiting for her is one of several oddities that should alarm her...but doesn't, which itself gives her pause. She wonders what her erstwhile companion would make of that — that it is not a sense of danger but its absence that is the source of any wariness. The contradiction seems quite in line with the Assassins' way of thinking.

With exquisite timing, a brief bit of splashing beyond the shore catches her attention, and she looks over just in time to see a hand flail above the surface. This far out, she can't be certain that it is a four-fingered hand, but somehow she knows. Maria stares for a moment longer, but he does not surface, and it seems he won't — or can't.

"Oh, for Heaven's sake," she mutters to herself. She's only managed to pull on her tunic, but then her sturdy trousers would only be a hindrance. Wading into the shallows and then swimming out as the water gets deeper, she summons memories of youthful, sneaked swimming time in the ponds of Leicestershire.

Her body remembers as well as she could ask it to, and she dives beneath the surface with the intent to grasp an arm, pull him to the surface, help buoy him up if it's possible. It seems Maria has discovered the one thing she can do that Altaïr cannot, but she has no experience rescuing anyone from drowning. All she can do is make the attempt and pray that this too is within her capabilities.

Altaïr knows how to swim. He does. But all his muscle memory fails him here. He kicks the water uselessly, only succeeding in upsetting a few bubbles.

Someone grabs him, but it's a supporting weight. He opens his eyes, because he remembers he has them now, and observes that this person is a woman--and familar. The traveling companion he was getting to know. They are together. Why does he not remember a shipwreck?

Altaïr is heavy, but the water makes him weightless. Mariana, the Pthumerian said to be the ocean herself, tosses them a bit roughly, like being irritated at a couple of specks that have landed in one's drink. He gasps for air when they break the choppy surface together.

"Maria--" he coughs. "I cannot move." Move well, that is. He feels he should explain his complete and utter uselessness.

If he can talk, he can breathe, albeit not well. That's good. And he can tell her the problem — that's better. Maria is immensely relieved to discover that his weight doesn't plunge them beneath the surface as she thought it might; she knows she's taller and stronger than most women, but Altaïr is taller still, and the muscle mass built up by his damnable climbing habits means he outweighs her by several stone.

"I've got you." She wipes water out of her eyes and thinks quickly how best to get him out of the water without wresting an arm from its socket or forcing him to gulp down more seawater. From behind, she decides, moving around him and slipping her arms beneath his to wrap up and around his shoulder. "Keep your face above water if you can. It's not far to shore."

She kicks hard then, getting them moving in the right direction. It's a graceless rescue; no one would mistake her for an experienced savior of drowning men, but she manages. The force of the waves helps as they get closer to land, but the awkwardness grows when she starts to feel sand beneath her feet. Less water means less to prevent Altaïr from being little more than dead weight, but she's grimly determined to get them both on dry land, no matter if she has to heave, drag or roll him there.

His climbing "habits" are an integral part of his work... though they do make him a bit top heavy. They're perfect for giving Maria a boost, so this is familiar, this working together to remain upwards and not downwards. She's paying him back tenfold.

Altaïr feels the sand brush against his toes before she does, and he stumbles to his knees. But here, he can leverage his long limbs into something like propping himself up whenever the waves deign to relent battering him about. Maria drags him most of the way like a sack of tubers.

Altaïr falls on his side on damp black sand, coughing and wiping seawater from his face. Being without clothing is secondary to being alive, but--well. He covers himself with one hand as he catches his breath. His eyes dart about. There is Maria, in nothing but a tunic--he averts his eyes, it's rude to stare, he doesn't want to disrespect her. There are other people in the distance, and a good amount of detritus--satchels and such.

"Where are we? Do you know?"

She's relieved when she can feel Altaïr move, doing what he can to keep them upright so she can keep them going. It's not much, but under the circumstances she's glad for any bit of leverage he can provide. As a whole, their journey to the shore is much wetter and with far fewer explosions or instances of crumbling masonry than when they fled the Archive on Cyprus, but their teamwork yields the same result. Only when they're both fully above the waterline does she let go, crouching and coughing. He isn't the only one to have swallowed seawater.

He asks the obvious question and the moment stretches out before she answers. "Far off course, I think."

No, she knows. Maria doesn't have a strong sense of how much time has passed since she told herself how to open her eyes and move her limbs on this very beach, but she was able to at least begin to reorient herself, and to hear some of what their greeters had to say. But she'd been so dazed, and there had been others to see to, and she hadn't come close to grasping it all. Certainly she couldn't explain it to Altaïr.

Pushing herself to her feet, she makes for the bag and robe she'd dropped upon spotting him. "Here," she says, handing him the thin garment. It's still damp from when she'd worn it, and may or may not be too small for him, but it's large enough for Altaïr to dry off and cover himself.

It's too small for his shoulders. Altaïr can see that right away. He passes it over his face to take the sting of saltwater out of his eyes and wraps it around his waist. He attempts to stand, and only manages a fawn-like stumble towards the nearest unattended satchel. (He is otherwise unhurt, unblemished except for various scars.) Without a care for whose it might be, he opens it and rummages.

"This one is all food in some sort of... strange paper."

He does not have time to marvel at the art upon something labeled Extreme Salt & Vinegar. He tosses the whole bag with the sound of crinkling plastic towards Maria to inspect and reaches for another.

"...These are mine." He knows it with the first brush of calloused fingers on linen. He tugs a piece of travel-dusted white robe edged with black embroidery halfway out of the bag and fully looks up at Maria, brows knitting, troubled.

"You did not specifically pack our things to escape the ship, did you? I have no memory of this."

She has proven herself an ally, so it is not that which is in question. Only the rest of this entire situation.

Maria nearly moves to aid him when Altaïr stumbles, but refrains; his movement is already improving, and his pride may not welcome even the best-intentioned assistance. Hers certainly wouldn't. Instead she examines the strangely smooth bag before tucking it into her bag, in case it can be useful later.

The retrieval of his things pulls a brief, tight smile to her face that's gone in a moment. After years spent concealing herself as a man and then serving among the Crusaders, Maria is not offended by male nudity, but nor does she blame him for wanting to cover up. It's not as though she had any desire to expose herself either.

Speaking of which. Her tunic may cover more of her body than the borrowed robe covers his, but it's hardly enough for her preference. "I did not." She pulls her trousers from the bag and begins to finish dressing, quickly and efficiently.

"It was nearly the same for me. I woke up here on the shore, not long before I saw you in the water, with no recollection of how I got there." Trousers on, she reaches up to squeeze excess water from her saturated hair. It won't make much difference — her tunic is still soaked from the impromptu rescue — but she has to at least try. She hesitates before continuing, unsure how to convey information she still doesn't really understand. "There are...people here, waiting as if they knew to expect this."

This magpie-like practicality might save them in this world. Altaïr's hands are deft and sure as a Master Assassin's must be, even if he is still finding his land legs, but he does feel a slight heat in his face as he rushes to dress and does not look at Maria's hair. The mystery of their manner of arrival continues to grow, and gathering what things they can to themselves demands attention. He also needs to concentrate to stand properly, and this troubles him. But he can stand, so there is that.

"A strong, reliable current that carries people and things to shore. The people of this land have come to expect it," he guesses as he fixes his leathers in place and slings the bag over his shoulder. This exceptional bag kept everything in it dry and sand-free. Another mystery that must be shelved in the name of survival.

"There is still the matter of my blades, save for this one." He lifts his left arm slightly; his left bracer contains the Hidden Blade. Maria will know it, having seen it pointed at her. "And anything of yours that is missing... If they have not been stolen already."

He casts a baleful glance up and down the beach before finally tugging his trademark hood over his short, damp hair to cloak his face back in mystery for anyone who does not already know him.

Altaïr ibn La-Ahad | Assassin's Creed

Washing Up

Spires

Paleblood Malfunction: Amplified Hallucinations

washing up

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Archaic Archives

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