vivalaooc | TDM #8

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TDM #8

TEST DRIVE #8

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 attacks on Bluvink and Vindess were wildly successful, but it also created the largest risk to Imperial citizens ever. Due to the heavy dealing with certain elements of the imperial citizenry, there has been a heightened risk at the Empire cracking down on them. In an effort to protect them, the Corsairs have welcomed a large number of refugees from Imperial settlements for the first time. While some servants were also liberated in the operation, a great deal of the Corsair’s airship resources were devoted to evacuation.

As such, the Vault is filled to the brim with people being processed and temporarily housed. Whole families have been displaced, and it’s hard to determine who might be willing to sell out the Corsairs for a chance to return when offered. Please be patient, like as not, you’ll be here for a while.

UNDERGROUND OVERCROWDING

In addition to the refugees, many of Flotsam’s regulars are currently residing in the Vault. While the settlement is quite large, even its capacity is starting to become overloaded. And with the clashing personalities of typical Vault and Flotsam residents, to say nothing of all of the Imperial refugees who have been ripped from their former lives and are now residing in an unfamiliar and, for Isle-dwellers disconcerting new home, tensions are running high. It’s pretty common for brawls to break out, although if you’re taking part or attempting to keep the peace is another story entirely.

CRITICAL REPAIRS

The fighting in the Isles Above was intense, and the airships did not escape unscathed. The ships have been brought into the Vault for intensive inspection and repairs, and those who are on duty are working day and night to get them fixed up in time for the next major operation. Whether you’re a craftsperson, hunter, gatherer, or salvager, chances are high that you’ve been tapped to procure or create material for these repairs, and you haven’t really had much time to rest.

It’s all right though, the foremen kindly left free pizza in the mess hall. That makes it fine, right?

WHEN YOU’RE LAND-BOUND, BETTER DRINK

Many of the Flotsam residents are going more than a little stir-crazy hiding out in the Vault. In what is certainly an extremely cunning plan without any potential downsides, the Vault has mobilized all of the Waterlogged Row’s purveyors of grog and set them up centrally within the Vault. And thus, the Flotsam citizens are able to engage in their favorite past-time. Getting extremely drunk. In enclosed quarters. In a city full of scholars that’s under constant bombardment.

Surely nothing will go wrong.

WILDCARD

Have an idea for your own prompt? Feel free to make any prompt that you think would fit!

OOC
Welcome to the eighth 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 February at midnight.
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I. Underground Overcrowding
The Vault has always made him more irritable than when he's dealing with difficult patients, but the current situation's even worse. There's simply too much to deal with, too many people, too many complaints, too many unprepared for the drastic changes of uprooting the lives they knew to follow what they hoped would be better. Tau certainly hopes the experience doesn't make them regret their decisions, even as he wishes they weren't all crammed into this place.

"HEY!"

Maybe his shout is missed for the anger-fueled yelling that's devolved into shoving, and he anticipates a fist to fly any time soon. Now, were you instigating, or the one being pushed to respond?

In any case, there's now some skinny looking teenager glaring between both parties, holding back that arm with frightening ease.

"Normally this is where I toss someone overboard. Think you can cool off without? Or you want to try me?" He might be raring for a fight himself.

II. Better Drink
Tau... is not a drinker. Back in Flotsam he's been known to toss drunkards into the sea if they were getting too rowdy. But he's also known for highly effective but terribly tasting hangover remedies. Some believe it's just because he's sadistic like that, but he insists the worst it tastes, the more effective, and unfortunately no one's been able to refute that.

So he's claimed a table just outside of the new drunkards' row, calmly crushing and preparing ingredients. It's actually a little disturbing watching how very careful and deliberate he is in applying pestle to mortar, like he's envisioning something else as he works. Like the heads he'd love to crack together of those who are currently being particularly loud, repeat offenders no doubt.

Matt was at The Vault more as a lurker than anything. The crowd of determined drinkers from Flotsam had seen to it the place truly never was silent, and the night before it had been difficult even for him to make out the sound of the explosions overhead. The air was hot and clammy from overcrowding, and eventually Matt disappeared through a portal to get away from the overwhelming stimulation.

He returns the next morning, mistaking the lower volume and sound of people snoring as an all clear, only to find out he miscalculated when he passes near Tau, hard at work on his hangover cure. Matt's face scrunches immediately and he tries to breath through his mouth, but it's too late.

Tau will hear someone coughing and heaving from nearby- perhaps one of the many waking up hungover and sick. A human man in a black hooded cloak, hunched over holding his stomach and another hand clamped over his mouth. He turns his head frantically, searching for something resembling a bucket or bowl he can use if he can't tame his nausea. The halls of The Vault are perfect for navigating with sound with their hard smoothed out walls, but nothing obvious to use is close enough for him to make out its shape.

The portals are definitely useful. Tau's sure he'd start sending people flying into walls if he didn't have that option. Trees need to get fresh air and light, after all.

Eyes flick over at the hooded figure, going immediately back to the contents of the mortar as he as he gauges how fine he's ground those dried leaves. Annoyance flickers across his face at the all too familiar sound. Ugh, someone has the nerve to actually throw-up around him?

There's the hollow sound of a container being plunked unceremoniously by the cloaked one's feet. "If you really must," he says. It's a bit weird, but perhaps Matt might have missed it for all his own coughing, but Tau's hardly made a sound in his approach.

[ I. Goddess of (Un)Death ]

Alara walks amongst the mortals, something she hasn't truly done for some time. Well, since arriving upon this world, it's been nothing but mortals. A change from the cosmos of Celestials and Daeva that she's been calling home for the longest.

The souls of this place, of the "Vault," are restless spirits. Some of them are here following their families. Some come from the surface. Some have followed comrades, saviors. Some have even died here, underground, people who may have entered wounded and not been able to be healed. But none of them are content.

She supposes that is why they linger.

She is a goddess, the Goddess of Undeath. But here upon this plane, she was called the goddess of death instead, a distinction she was still trying to wrap her head around. Ka-Zen had been the God of Death she had known. But he did not judge souls - he simply killed.

As she walks through the hallways, the souls begin to follow her. She has a train of them so thick that even the uninitiated mortals can begin to see them. Pale blue ghosts, following this somber teenage girl in a black dress and boots... and flaming blue halo.

She pauses, then, turning to whoever is closest. Well, the closest mortal - no use in speaking with the souls yet. "Which way is it to the Underworld, do you suppose?"

[ II. When You're Land-Bound, Better Drink ]

Alara makes her entrance in a rather... fun way, by floating in through a wall like a ghost. Which she kind of is. Or was? It's a bit hard to place, honestly.

Floats right in through a wall, and then takes a seat at the bar.

"I've never had a drink before," she admits, "but I'm curious. And I feel like I deserve one. So please, if you would, a mug of your finest." And as a mug is reluctantly handed over (she does look nebulously mid-teens,) she takes a huge swig right off the bat.

She doesn't react like most girls to their first taste of alcohol. She simply lowers her mug and considers the experience. ".........I don't get it."

[ III. Messaging ]

[ And, over the network- a video ]

I see, so this is like a "phone."

But where are the "emotes," and the "cat videos?" Quite curious. Death Comes Only To Those Who Invite It was quite fond of the "cat memes" I shared in my last foray into this type of communication.

Ah, right, introduction. Hello. I am Alara, or K'Alara, Goddess of Undeath and Eternity. I suppose I now also govern the dead in this world? I did not receive a guide in what to do, so I shall be "winging it" as my father would say.

My powers seem to be very muted here, but I shall endeavor to assist as much as possible.

Are there any cats around?

[ IV. Wildcard? ]

Find Alara walking around, mostly in the Vault for now. You might find her contemplating the meaning of (un)life, speaking to the dead, speaking to cats, taking selfies, or attempting to spruce the place up (by making it look more spooky... but like, Halloween-decor level spooky.) To varying degrees of success.

Somebody tell her to stop that last one, please.

I. LIVE BAIT

[ When you're serious about total eradication, it's time to bring out the real monsters.

Where are all those refugees disappearing to, anyway? Pitou would like to know, since they figure the Corsairs might have a little something to do with it. From what they understand, there are some humans that don't like to see the "innocent" of their kind suffer. Pitou still doesn't get what "innocent" really means, but they have developed their own profile: weak, useless humans that can't fight or survive well on their own.

So, that's who they've decided to round up. Their group of captives includes twenty or so would-be refugees, most of whom are either elderly or injured. All trails have gone cold in Bavrecht, which is strange to begin with. At dusk—the start of a cold, miserable night—Pitou drops from a rocky perch and lands next to an imperial soldier. The fall is at least twenty or thirty meters, but they're unfazed. ]

Shoot up an emergency flare. Then go hide.

[ The soldier obeys. There are a few others around, making sure Pitou's "innocents" don't kick up a fuss. Most of them are too weak or despondent to resist, anyway. Pitou has them gathered at the center of a desolate valley where they're easy to spot from a ways off.

Some time passes. Two minutes. Three. Then Pitou taps into their Ethereal power, spreading it out to the surrounding area—oppressive, undulating tendrils that can sense anything within two kilometers surrounding them. ]

... Found you.

[ You as in any poor onlooker who might be scouting the situation or thinking of rescuing the captives. Run, hide, or try to talk your way out of it. Pitou can cover ground at alarming speed, and once they're close enough, the aura they give off is like a suffocating presence of pure anxiety and dread. ]

II. TRY, TRY AGAIN

[ No luck in Bavrecht? They can try Elysium, now that there's a bit more traffic heading in and out.

This time, there's no real plan. They're just going to slip up behind random folks on the street and begin an interrogation. When approaching, they suppress their Ethereal aura, but there's still an inhuman creepiness that's quite chilling all on its own. That and it's most likely the dead of night.

Pitou sets their claws on the target's shoulder and leans in with an unsettling smile. ]

Let's talk. Where are you off to?

(ooc: can do a wildcard or mix things up for any other potential villains! also i'm happy to match with prose, since i know that's a popular option for folks.)

Ah, this one. Full of vitality, but also a certain awareness.

She looks at this being, and her hands close into fists, ready to fight--

But, instead, she seems to realize something.

She stops. "... You're not any normal necromancer."

With that, she pauses, a moment, to try and remember. "Grandfather used to say the Underworld was close when we prayed at shrines to Hades, but... I don't know how true that really is."

[He'd sensed it, that 'somethingness' in the air, his senses sharper than most, especially when it comes to matters leaning closer towards the spiritual and otherworldly.

Tau has a scarf wound around his shoulders and over his head, but he stiffens under the touch, and the only reasons he's not immediately moving to disengage this person from his space is their current location and that Other that he senses. Does this one have a different scent?]

Apothecary's. Is this urgent?

"It is true that I am no normal necromancer. I was myself once a wandering spirit, a specter and revenant from the City of the Dead, bound to haunt my homeland at the whims of a mad god." She pauses for a moment. "I am Alara, Goddess of Undeath and Eternity. I suppose here, I'm taking up the mantle of one known as Hades."

That's a large mouthful, but Alara will ramble on at the drop of a hat if you let her.

She nods once more, then continues, rambling secured. "I suppose I should begin to figure out the intricacies of my new role, then, if I am to properly guide the lost souls here to their final destination. I have spent centuries as a lost soul myself, and I know that it is no way to spend one's afterlife."

If it seems like Alara is spouting too much narration - yeah. She's actually just Like That.

"Hard for a god of death to stay dead, huh?" Kanna muses. She doesn't believe it yet-- for good reason; she's seen plenty of people claim to have the ear of gods before, but sure hasn't seen one who actually does. "Well, laying the dead to rest isn't a bad thing, but if you wanna piss off the judge of souls that bad by impersonating them, the best way to start's a small shrine they've set up here."

Kanna gestures Alara to follow her.

"I have no intention on 'pissing off' anybody, unless they wish to prey upon the innocent, or harm me or my own." She hasn't quite followed the line of Kanna's thinking there, since, after all, she is only telling the truth.

But nevertheless she follows, the growing trail of ghosts and spirits trailing behind. Occasionally, her footsteps become silent as she chooses to float rather than walk - after all, walking is rather new to her, all things considered.

She looks forward to seeing what this shrine is like.

She leads the entire party down the cave and corridors of the Vault, packed full of hundreds, many of whom begin to stare at the procession. She pulls off her gloves, careful to stow them in a pocket, and then hums an old chant she learned from her grandfather, honoring the judge of souls.

It's... Some time-- not too too long, but long enough that one might wonder how much longer it will take-- before they arrive. She waves at the arch, the scales above it, the flame of a spirit in one scale and a crystal of ice in the other.

Within, human bones, neatly folded, make decorations, chandeliers, carefully fluted alcoves. Some of them even have names, though this is reserved only for the most notorious of Corsairs, where the skull is very carefully cemented into the wall. "This is only the lead-up to it. The shrine proper is a little further. Here, those who have gone to the Scales before us are honored."

Even here, there are people, though fewer. Almost all are mourning, and some swap daring tales of the dead. Conversation and music fill the catacombs.

Eventually, they come to an alcove, and here, carved in bas-relief, is the form of the previous Hades, behind his desk, staring down at Kanna... And at Alara. A small donation box sits in front, as well as a set of hand-bells and a small set of tools for maintaining the shrine.

"So. Now comes the proof of it." Kanna takes up a hand-bell, closes her eyes, mutters another prayer. "Whenever it pleases, I'll ring with you."

"Thank you," Matt says, still struggling to steady his insides. He picks up the container with one hand and cradles it just to be sure he won't miss. While he's relieved to have a container to use, the foul smell hangs onto the man who had been mixing up the concoction, and it's enough to send him over the edge and face down into the container for a minute.

Groaning, Matt raises his head again. "What in the world are you mixing up with such foul ingredients?" Poison comes to mind, but he senses no one in the row of rooms nearby marked for death soon. If it's that, it must be for later.

[ Matt's own enhanced senses had brought him in the direction of the refugees in distress. He could hear worried whispers among the people, and their captors standing guard.

Matt is no Corsair, though he has admired their work from afar a long time now. His involvement in the war is limited by his Hades title, but he has been concerned over the wellbeing of the common people long before death came to claim him. He was hoping to slip in and free the crowd, but clearly he made a miscalculation. Someone among the soldiers was quite talented. ]

Don't recognize your voice. Is there a problem, Stranger?

[ He turns towards Pitou so they can see his face under the hood of his long dark cloak. His eyes don't raise to meet theirs, instead pointing towards the sound of their voice a little lower. He plants the end of the cane he's carrying in the grass between them, raising a confused brow. ]

I. Lurker [cw: ableism, potential oncoming fight]

The increased presence of soldiers on city streets was such a bother. Matt had been peacefully standing on a street corner near the place he once worked in life, hoping to listen in on his old partner and hear that his coworkers and best friends were still doing well in his long absence. He wears a long dark cloak and hood, careful not to get so close to the windows or doors of the private investigator's office he had once help run that he'd draw their attention.

"Hey, no beggars are allowed on this block. Off to the slums with you!" a soldier interrupts his concentration, stomping over to shoo him off.

"I'm sorry?" Matt frowns in the direction of the soldier. "What precisely makes you think that I am a beggar?" He knows arguing about the stigma of the lower class is useless here, but he'd like to know why he's being accused.

"You've been standing on this street corner all day, and you don't look like the kind who can handle a job!" the soldier insists.

"That's a wild exaggeration; I've been here less than an hour waiting for a friend, and why do you think I can't work?" Matt snaps back.

"I see that cane you were tapping around with earlier."

Matt rolls his eyes. "Rude. Ah! Here comes my friend now! I'll be leaving." Matt steps up to the closest person who happens to be walking by and greets them with a wide smile. "Mind helping me across the street, Old Friend?" he asks, tapping the end of his cane against the curb.

II. A Glimpse of Death

After wandering about The Vault to see how the Corsairs truly treated refugees, Matt had finally made up his mind about revealing himself to the Corsairs. He throws back the hood and folds his cloak over a shoulder, showing the dark colored clothes of what might be a local city man. Tapping his way through the halls, he finds a Corsair who he senses to be of some influence among the other rebels.

"I wish to speak with the first available leader of the Corsairs. It is of the utmost importance, and I'd rather not enter uninvited," he tries to explain himself. He likely could enter by opening a portal from the throne room, but he would prefer to do this without scaring anyone and accidentally starting a fight. Despite the god title, he imagines he would lose a fight to one of the strongest Corsairs with such a depleted amount of power.

Hopefully he picked the right person to speak to.

[ Feel free to WILDCARD or contact me to plot something. thoughtbubble I am flexible! ]

Kaitlyn Saunders, a bit shorter than the man, saw the guards harassing him and responded, "But naturally."

Calmly, she placed a hand out, and took the first step only when he was ready, ignoring the guards entirely. While she was dressed a bit more typically, she had one thing that might jump out as odd to Matt: The glove on her hand was a rather heavy leather. Almost like she was trying to hide something underneath.

Less obvious would be how pale she was.

Tau steps back, nose wrinkling in disgust. Mammals are so disgusting sometimes.

The cloaked man's words do prompt a smirk from him. Okay, so he can be a little sadistic.

"Usually it's supposed to cure people of hangover symptoms, not cause them," he says blandly. "It's nothing unnatural, if that's what you're worried about. Herbs and parts of dried fruits, mainly."

It would seem his attempt at a ruse was successful. The young lady who offers her hand replies so naturally, he likes to think the guards will look silly if they chase after them.

"Thanks!" Matt says, smiling rather smugly knowing full well the guards can see his expression, as he takes the gloved arm she offers and follows her lead in whichever direction she decides to lead.

The guards grumble in an attempt to get the last word, tossing insults in their direction.

It's cold outside, making it no surprise he happened upon someone wearing thick gloves, though most people in the city prefer to bundle up with something softer than leather. Protective gloves? he wonders. To his sensitive touch, he can feel that she doesn't seem to carry the body heat others do, making him wonder if she's a species other than human. A cold blooded type? All the reptile beastkin he had met preferred to bundle up heavily and if possible stay inside in these months though.

"Your gloves feel like they're well made," he says. He's too curious about her story now to simply walk in silence.

Not a poison, a cure? "Does it work for most people?" he asks. In the past when he drank too much he hadn't tried any cures besides drinking water and eating a healthy breakfast.

Matt doesn't bother hiding how he wrinkles up his nose at the smell. "I have a strong nose. Like a dogkin or bearkin. If you have one of those among your ranks, you might want to skip the cure for them."

"Maybe too well. My hope was that it'd be bad enough to swallow down once that they'd figure not to overdo things again. Instead I get repeat offenders. Might be masochistic, who knows."

Tau shrugs. "Not like I dump it down anyone's throat if they don't want it."

He looks back over towards the table as he notices someone tottering over, stepping back to grab one of the shot glasses from a stack he's commandeered. "Hold your breath," he warns Matt's way, tapping a bit of the powder from the mortar into the glass before he adds other things from little vials and bottles, dusting off his hands from crushing a tiny pod to add to the mix before he slides it over, as though he's merely conducting his own bartending. If Matt doesn't take his advice he might catch the pungent whiff, with a sharpness like a spice that might threaten to punch one in the face.

The bleary-eyed Corsair scoops up the glass, making a disgusted noise as he hesitates but a moment before downing its contents in one gulp.

"A good sense you have," Kaitlyn responded. "They help against a... Condition, I have."

Once they're well clear of the guards, she speaks a hint more openly. "Kaitlyn Saunders. Whom might I have had the pleasure of getting out of the way of the guards?"

Edited 2025-02-06 02:35 (UTC)

I get you on the emotes thing, cats are nice and it's been too long since I saw wait did you say Goddess of Death?!?!

"I hope it's nothing too troublesome," he replies, wondering if leather gloves would help against a chilly body temperature any better than something softer. Without knowing the details he can only guess.

Normally, Matt would simply introduce himself as Matthias Meerdock. But he's too close to what remains of his past life to let that name slip out. It would be very confusing if she was local and had heard about his business and death.

"Hades," he says, trying his best to speak with confidence. As a lifelong worshipper of the old gods, he hardly feels he deserves the name. Perhaps later he can tell her his other name.

"Thank you for your help, Kaitlyn. Seems the local soldiers have become emboldened ever since the Emperor's speech. They used to be slightly better at minding their business." He sighs.

Alara pauses for too long at the bones and the skulls, looking into them, past them into something else. She ignores the living in favor of the dead, not quite paying respects but paying something - attention, at the very least.

And when they move on, she seems intrigued by the setup of the shrine itself. She barely noted the figure carved into the wall, instead focusing on the bells and tools and donation box.

"Intriguing... I've never seen tools quite like these before. I can infer some of these are for maintenance, but what of the bells? What purpose do they serve, here?" She asks this of Kanna, though, and not of the dead souls around them. "Ah, I can sense the barrier is thinner here, at least. You were correct about that."

[ An intense frown, and the halo of flames seems to flare a bit. ]

I did not. I am the Goddess of Undeath and Eternity. The God of Death I knew was Ka-Zen, and I killed him myself.

.....I suppose it's not entirely incorrect though.

"It's..." How to put it. "The bells are used to send a prayer, or so they told me. The Empire banned them ages ago. They're... For similar reasons, they're also a necromancer's tool."

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TDM #8

Tsuyukusa (Tau) // Amatsuki

II cw: nausea, vomiting

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Alara | OC (OU) | Goddess of Death (candidate)

neferpitou | hunter x hunter | au (villain)

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I.

Matt Murdock | MCU | AU, God Hades

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3, video

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