vivalaooc | TDM #2

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TDM #2

TEST DRIVE #2

The day begins as any other, you’re going about your day, living your life, when, without warning, you feel the world around you shift on its axis. You feel a great tear, welling from the depths of your soul as you are ripped from all you have known. If you’re lucky, you arrive in the wilderness of an unfamiliar world, where the language is foreign and the people are hostile. To make your escape, you must learn some language, flee, and occasionally fight, all to find your way off the floating isles you find yourself on and to the great ocean below, where rebel forces will welcome you.

If you’re unlucky, you materialize within a room full of armed guards and are quickly subdued with charged nets, stripped of your belongings, fitted with strange devices that suppress your powers and pressed into servitude. Your days are unimaginable pain and toil.

Fortunately, even in this world, there is still hope. For the denizens of this world have not given up. And it is for that dream of salvation that the Crimson Corsairs raise their flags and sail - for liberation. Perhaps you are one who has lived their entire life under the oppressive yoke of the Empire. Perhaps you have seen first hand your family and friends cut down by nobles hunting men for sport, or perhaps you have run afoul with the church and barely escaped with your life. No matter your origin, the Corsairs sail for you, for your freedom, for your life. And today, a taste of freedom will be won for all.

ARRIVAL/LIBERATION
The Corsairs are flush with victory over the Hesaeth labor camp. A mining operation formerly under control of the Empire, this strategic victory will give the Corsairs access to desperately needed materials to build weapons and war machines. The former members of the labor camp are being quickly evacuated - packed onto ships and taken to the floating city of Flotsam for a hot meal and integration into the broader organization.

Many of the prisoners were armed ahead of the fight and took part in the rebellion themselves, while many others were whisked away by rescuers so their injuries could be treated. The mines were a harsh life, but for now, at least, the former workers are free. The mess hall of Flotsam rings out in merriment as the new arrivals are fed and clothed, but for those who took part in the fighting, they may do well to seek out their assigned berths… assuming they can find much of anything. Flotsam is many things, but organized and constant it is not.

THE TRIALS AHEAD

With the Hesaeth mining camp now under Corsair control, the arduous task of staffing and defending it now falls to them. Engineers and tacticians are convening in the Vault to discuss matters and make plans. Staff assignments, escape routes, potentially rigging the entire site with explosives, nothing is off the table. The Corsairs know that their victory will be short-lived, the Empire can crush a static operation with the full might of their army should they so choose. But so long as they hold it, the Corsairs must plan to use it. And when the time comes that the Empire attacks, they must do everything in their power to get as many people as they can out alive.

Scholars are going to be especially busy as schematics are being passed through the building. Every ounce of knowledge stored in the Vault’s considerable archive is being turned to this project, so meetings are frequent between committees and subcommittees as the Corsairs quickly and (mostly) efficiently prepare and execute a plan to secure the site and get it operational in short order.

AIRBORNE ASSAULT

The next mission is already being planned, and what scholars and tacticians can be spared from the massive effort of turning the Hesaeth mining camp into a viable operation have been tapped to plan the next mission - a daring attack on a VIP’s airship escort. The Corsairs are still determining how they want to approach the attack, but one thing is certain - they will need means to attack the airborne fleet before it arrives on Elysium’s soil.

With the miniscule amount of airships in the Corsair fleet, the Corsairs must carefully plan their troop placement and plan of attack. Gliders are already being churned out of the Vault’s lower workshops to support the boarding crew. Whether they sink or capture the airships, the attack crew will need everything it can get.

Beyond that, those who are preparing to take part in the operation are getting a crash course in ship combat. Glider usage will be critical, so glider lessons are taking place in Flotsam, and those who don’t have experience on airships will get to be taken up - best they get their air legs now and upend the contents of their stomach BEFORE the operation. Those hoping to fight will be spending their time flying up in the airship and using their gliders to return to Flotsam below.

FESTIVAL OF GAMES

In the waning days of summer, the world used to celebrate the changing of seasons and the start of the harvest with games, feats of skill, and banquets. While the Empire has mercilessly crushed all these old festivals, the Corsairs have managed to preserve the traditions and carry them forward.

Across the three cities, competitions are happening. In Vault, indoor competitions are held in large underground arenas set up specifically for these festivals. In Flotsam, there are chaotic boat races, swimming contests, spearfishing competitions and other such aquatic endeavors. Even Elysium is observing a hunt festival where people cull monsters and try to bring home the most game, although much of it will be siphoned off by the Empire. Spirits are high, good cheer is had by all, and the grog is flowing freely for any Corsairs who might want to participate or spectate.

WILDCARD

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OOC
Welcome to the Second Test-Drive Meme for Viva La! All threads here may be considered canon once characters have entered the game. Threads here are eligible for use as a roleplay sample for applications, which will open on the 5th of August at midnight.

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-1: Liberation-

Iren had no desire to risk her life in brutish front line battles. She preferred less direct ways of helping out the revolution.

For example, on the celebration of the prisoner raid, she was waiting at Flotsam's mess hall with several cases of mead that were of much higher quality than most of the grog available. Enough that everyone could get at least a taste. And for any particularly heroic figures, she had even supplied a few high end bottles of various sorts.

Iren herself was behind the bar, serving drinks and food. She moved quickly and professionally, to the point that sometimes her implements seemed to be moving themselves around.

...Actually no. Looking closer, it looks like some of the plates and mugs she's slinging about ARE moving themselves around to make sure they reach the right person. Apparently she's a mage of some sort.

-2: Festival of Games-

Again, Iren had no interest in actually competing in games of strength and showing off. She was more interested in information, logistics, and (most importantly) hospitality.

The Laughing Toadstool is a friendly looking bar in Elysium. It doesn't feature many of the more extreme entertainments the region is known for, but it does feature decent food and drink at reasonable prices, a welcoming atmosphere, and live music most nights. It should be utterly unremarkable, honestly, but there's just something about the place that draws the eye when you're tired or hungry. Almost like it was built on the ruins of an ancient shrine to a god of hospitality and travelers who was all but stamped out by the Empire but still lingered on as a shade in Iren's basement.

Iren herself did steady trade and kept her head down, for the most part. But it was known to the Corsairs to be a safehouse and a place where information could change hands discreetly. During the Festival of Games, Iren has put up a chalkboard where she's keeping track of who has hunted what, with promises of free drinks for anyone with particularly impressive trophies. It's her way of keeping morale up.

She looks over from her step stool by the board at you, when you come in, and shouts across the room. "Did you get anything good?"

-3: Wildcard-

The worst has happened. Your cover has been blown. Imperial agents are HOT on your heels, looking to take you in for "questioning," which everyone knows is a euphemism for "you will never be seen again."

Fortunately, the Laughing Toadstool is within reach, and known to be a safehouse for Corsairs in a bind.

Iren was all smiles, as she is to most people who enter her bar, but when she realized the situation her demeanor suddenly got serious as she bundled you off into a broom closet to hide just before Imperial agents burst into the room.

It was a pretty sad hiding spot, and probably wouldn't stand up to even a half hearted search, especially since Iren was standing in front of it when they burst in. So it's a bit of a relief when the wooden planks making up the back wall of the closet started smoothly sliding aside, revealing a ladder downwards.

Downstairs, in what must be a hidden basement, was a buried shrine to a dead god. But gods don't die like humans do. There was still a distinct feeling of being watched.

It wasn't until half an hour later that Iren came down the stairs (not the ladder).

"I thought they'd never leave. Are you alright?"

Edited 2024-08-01 06:19 (UTC)

[Liberation, Flotsam]

[She sits quietly on a bench amongst the good-natured chaos, her face molded into an expression difficult to discern. Relief, certainly. Exhaustion, perhaps. But her brows are furrowed and her mouth slightly parted, striking a note of incongruous melancholy in the midst of this celebration. There is a bandage upon her head; one arm is held in a splint, and the blackened and calloused palms of her hands bear witness to the labor she had been forced to endure.]

'Branch and bone bear weeds; mounds and ruins bloom fields.' In the midst of utter despair, there arises a sprig of hope.

Yet to think... must every world sow such destruction?

[Also she is clearly a dragon person, and her yards-long tail might occasionally twitch and send some unobservant passer-by tumbling to the ground.]

-1: Arrival-

The emblem adorning Junia’s armor, as well as the book of scriptures hanging by her side, is not one that is terribly welcome among the Corsairs. The symbol of the Divine is associated with control and discrimination against all the Empire considers unsightly.

But when someone steps in to take a blow meant for you, or to blast holy light at Imperial soldiers (or that failing: bashing them with a big heavy mace), or to heal your wounds with a gentle touch, maybe the exact heraldry she’s wearing isn’t the first thing on your mind.

-2: Liberation-

The imposing figure clad in steel and light from the battle looks distinctly less intimidating now. Junia, when she wasn’t full of fire and brimstone, looked like someone who was used to making herself look smaller than she actually was, and also incredibly out of place in a crowded feasting hall.

She eyed her mug of grog dubiously, doing her level best to put up with being jostled by the rowdy people around her. So this was what parties were like out here, was it? In the convent she grew up in, a “party” was when the mother superior let her charges have a mug of watered down sacramental wine and sing a few of the less somber hymns together. And if they were lucky, a dinner with actual meat in it!

“Well,” she mused out loud, “if I am to be part of this, I may as well attempt to fit in.”

She took a healthy chug of her drink, or at least she tried to. It burned going down, and Junia was immediately overcome by a coughing fit.

-3: Airborne Assault-

Junia had one main concern about the gliders. It wasn’t that she was afraid of heights. She was, but that was a fear she could conquer if she put her mind to it. It wasn’t that she felt bad about harming Imperials. She had seen, an lived through, some of their worst atrocities, and had decided they deserved no more mercy than they gave.

No, it was a more practical concern. The delicate construction of wood and canvas looked extremely…fragile. And Junia was a pretty big girl.

“I’m not going to have to strip off my armor, am I? I can scarce believe something like this could hold me up even if I were naked.”

It seems for some people there's always an urge to dominate and hurt... and when they're the ones in power...

[Harlock trails off, his eye falling upon the swimmers at the beach, before settling on Shu - searching. The pirate had disguised himself as an inquisitor to smuggle in weapons, wondering if she was among the group he aided]

So it must be.

Yet it is the fool who inflicts such hurt with wanton disregard. I know of no nation that can survive by heaping a mountain of suffering upon its common people.

[As if returning to the present from a faraway dream, her eyes flicker towards Harlock and her expression remolds into a smile.]

Ah. But I know your face. [Considering the sheer amount of chaos that had occurred at the mines, this is perhaps a more impressive feat than it seems.]
Please, accept my gratitude for your courage.

[She stands in an elegant gesture and despite her injuries, bows deeply with her hands together. One has the sense that despite her current rough cloth garments, she is more accustomed to silk and finery.]

[Something that was close to but not quite a smile flitted across his lips for a moment as he inclines his head]

I appreciate it - I detest entities like the empire, and if it turns out that spiting them liberates others, so much the better.

[Harlocks notes her stance, and the graceful way she held herself despite her circumstances, it reminded him of a couple of people he knew in his universe.]

And I found in the sea of stars - those who control others by pain and suffering end up being destroyed by their own methods.

[Without the faintest trace of a smile on her face, she responds with seeming perfect earnestness.]

Then I must be thankful for being the secondary beneficiary of your spite.

[Though there is a faint twinkling in her eyes. She seats herself and gestures towards the space beside her.]

The ‘sea of stars’, you say. What a poetic term - is it literary, or literal? Perhaps the name of your home?

Edited 2024-08-01 22:21 (UTC)

Ko feels shaky here, to say the very least. Moored here in an unfamiliar land with no one he can call a friend, and little in the way of skill for the language. Still, he attempts to look at ease, succeeding in the way of small smiles afforded to the rowdy partygoers that spare him passing glances.

He was never much of a partier back home, either.

It seems that the young woman next to him is much the same, at least at first glance. At her coughing, Ko starts a little, knocked from his reverie. He turns to her, clear concern painted over his features.

In English at first, "Are you okay? Ah ... Mm."

It's a frustrated look, just for a moment. Japanese wasn't met well, either.

He offers her his cup. Water inside, since he's a bit of a lightweight himself, and getting inebriated with a roomful of strangers seems like a recipe for disaster.

Attempting a little German, "Water. Good for you."

As Junia got her breathing back under control, she noticed someone was speaking to her, but not in any language she understood. The man apparently knew several, though none she could follow.

Scratch that, the last one sounded ALMOST intelligible. Like a different dialect of Varscheinian. Something about drinking, maybe?

Oh. He was offering her water.

Junia took the offered cup and said “thank you.” Before taking a sip.

[A quiet chuckle escapes as he takes a seat, inhaling and taking in the clean sea air]

Well... I suppose it's both?

[He wasn't sure what her frame of reference was as he starts to explain]

I am from a world called Earth, but it's one of many where people live, and to travel from world to another, people have to travel among the stars.

Edited 2024-08-02 01:14 (UTC)

Travel among the stars?!

[For the first time, she seems ill composed as she half-gapes.]

I should not be surprised. And yet such a thing seems more impossible than interdimensional travel.

[For she had long known of the existence of artifacts such as the Door of Sami -- and knew, too, that its unveiling was not an 'if' but a distant 'when.']

What a wondrous thing, and yet you speak of it as if it were pedestrian. Worlds beyond worlds... Long have we gazed at the firmament and sought to reach beyond the tethers of our earth, asking 'who are we?' in the vast cosmos.

Tell me more. Such a thing is a commonplace occurrence for your society? Societies.

An elegant woman holds up, somewhat jarringly in contrast with both her surroundings and her appearance, a bucket of very dead fish. She is all smiles as she shows off her catch proudly.

"Fins."

Wrong competition. ...Wrong city. And wrong place to bring dead fish.

"May I speak to the chef of this establishment? I understand it is meal time, and I do not wish to disturb the preparations. But to see these lives go to waste is to sow ill fortune, and I cannot consume these on my own."

[He actually brightens a little at her question, raising his right hand in a vague open-palm gesture. On occasion, he pauses, as if searching for the right word in Imperial before continuing.]

Well, Humans have been doing where I am from so for almost a thousand years, and even with that, there is still so much that is beyond our understanding that raises questions, worlds where it rains rubies, a world that are soft and lacking shape.

...As for commonplace, most people on Earth had turned their backs on the stars in the last several years - preferring their little world, but cargo, transport, and mail ships still move. But those who don't fit on Earth, the sea of stars is where we live.

One thousand years...

[There is a distant awe in her voice and she gazes up automatically, despite that it is broad daylight.]

What wonderful stories your people must have to tell. It is a dream of Terrans to some day break beyond the Starpod and pierce through to the worlds beyond. 'For the stars lean down from open space, and the moon runs up the river. What am I but a sand-snipe in this wide universe?'

Perhaps we all long for what we do not have. Your 'Earth' must be a fine place to live if it compares to the countless stars.

[She shakes her head wistfully.]

It is difficult to survive in my land. The yearnings of the people are for a world free from Catastrophe, free from that which burdens us. It is a fancy, of course. A folly. Yet is a life spent chasing a dream in a distant sky any less fulfilling than with head bent, feet plodding along the earth?

I like that... is that a quote from something?

[The laugh was much more bitter than he intended when she speculated that Earth must be a fine place to live]

It is less that and more that for a time, humans on earth had largely given up on anything.

[Quietly he shifted topics]

You mention 'Starpod' what is that exactly?

It is a Yanese poem, written by the Poet Historian of the 7th century.

[There is a warmth to her tone. Evidently, she values the appreciation of her culture. She takes the cue to change topics easily enough, observing the harsh laugh of her companion. It is not seemly to press new acquaintances.]

The Starpod is a euphemism. We do not have a correct term for it, for we barely understand what it is. It is a... false sky.

[This is confusing to explain. But then, the reality is more confusing.]

Our planet, Terra, is encased in a barrier that defies any attempts to accurately perceive beyond it. ...I am afraid I do not have any answers to the questions you will ask. We know only that it is there, to our great consternation.

Sorry we're late on putting this up!

Lying in the dark, waiting, with nothing to do but control her breathing and pray had been tortuous. Especially because, angelika's prayers, while not directed to any god in particular had stirred things up in the basement shrine. The feeling of observation had grown stronger-leading to yet more whispered prayer to ward it off.

As a result, when Iren came down the stairs, the light and sound made her shriek. "Wha-oh, um, yes? Yes, I think I'll be alright, maybe?"

“Fins?”

Iren craned her neck to get a better look at what she had.

Yup, that’s a bucket of fish. Iren’s customer service smile got a little glassy. She had learned to accept fish as food, and on a good day she might even be willing to admit it had its own appeal, but eating it always reminded her of how far she had fallen in society.

“Ah…yes. I’m sure they can come up with something to do with that. As trophies go it’s certainly creative.”

Iren flinched at the sudden shriek, almost shrieking herself. She was pretty shaken from the last encounter herself. But it was just her guest. No phantom lurked in the basement.

Well, one did, but it was one she knew.

“You look exhausted, poor thing. Don’t worry. It’s nearly impossible to find someone here if I don’t want them to be found. Consider yourself my guest for as long as you need.”

The moment she said “guest” the energy in the basement shrine changed entirely. The shadows were less black, the light less harsh. The sense of being watched was replaced with a sense of being protected.

"Trophies?" There is an underlying note of puzzlement in her voice. "No, these are for eating. Freshwater mild white fish, gently simmered whole with ginger and scallions and soy."

It is becoming clear that this has nothing whatsoever to do with the festival.

"I will help prepare the catch, naturally. Would you show me the way?"

A pair of gloves, a fish scaler, and a rubber apron have appeared in her other hand. ...It is also becoming clear that this person is inviting herself into the establishment without the slightest thought of asking permission. Still, there is a warmth and charm about her despite her presumptuousness.

Liberation A
As soon as the power-suppressing manacle was snapped off or removed by their rescuers, Ilphyl grinned. "Step back," they said, glancing around. "Wait. Are you afraid of bugs?"

Better to ask that first.

Liberation B
The downside to having lost all of their stuff to the Empire was that Ilphyl was back to their normal trouble with the sun. Until night fell, they were staying inside, eating enough to make up for lost time, and using their own magic to recover. After they are sure there wasn't much their own magic could do for themselves personally, they go to volunteer with the other healers.

Look, they have a lot of energy to burn off, it's still some time before sunset, and they've exhausted their wild shape charges for the moment. They want to be helpful.

Airborne Assault
Ilphyl hasn't exactly fought in a group while in their air, and airships aren't really a thing on the Sword Coast, so they are attending the lessons on ship combat. They have tracked down some tinted glass goggles, a wide-brimmed hat and sunblock, but their time outside means their skin is often reddish (as much as can be told under their dark complexion) or peeling, and they avoid going outside around midday.

They wave off the glider. "I have my own ways down."

Or they might be volunteering to act as a rescue squad when not practicing themselves.

Festival of Games -- Elysium
Perhaps surprisingly, Ilphyl was not using their wild shape while hunting, regardless if the competition allowed it. They had borrowed a blade off of someone, and had it sheathed at their side.

As the competition was beginning, after making sure it was just Corsairs around, they looked to the sky, singing something in their native language. Questioning looks got a grin. "I'm told the powers that be don't like other people's gods."

Ilphyl had a complex relationship with religion, especially for a divine spell caster. But it was always easier for them to be openly religious when someone else didn't want them to be.

The woman beside him is slowly flexing her fingers, clenching and unclenching them as she struggles to regain feeling in her hands after days of shoveling coal.

"Afraid? No. Though I would prefer most pests to seek shelter away from my lands."

A faint pause before she offers by way of explanation:

"I am a farmer by trade."

She had volunteered this information when first captured, which meant, of course, that they had sent her to the mines instead of the farmlands probably out of spite.

Ilphyl's magic drew on rather more wild aspects of nature, but farming seemed a lot better than whatever they were building with all this mining. Farming fed people.

"I'm a {druid}," Ilphyl didn't know if the locals even had that, so they used the word in Common. "One of my talents is to change my shape, into animals I've seen. I've seen some very big bugs. Ones that could put up a fight."

This gets a grin.

"I could cast a spell that would protect you, instead of your armor?" Ilphyl was digging through their pockets. "I'd need some... I don't know the word for it in Imperial. A type of tree bark."

They missed having a spell focus, rather than fussing with odds and ends for their spells that needed them. Sure, they could try to re-dedicate one, but it was the principle of the matter.

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TDM #2

Iren Suto | Original | AU

Shu | Arknights | OU

Junia | Darkest Dungeon | AU

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Festival

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QUESTIONS

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Ilphyl | D&D OC |OU

Liberation

Re: Liberation

Airborne Assault