synodiporia_ooc | Test Drive #16

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test drive

Test Drive #16

Welcome to the Synodiporia Test Drive Meme! Below the cuts there are two new prompts, and here are the prompts from previous test-drives, which you’re still welcome to use in this post. When you comment, be sure you specify what prompt you want to play with, and please put up your own threadstarter—it makes for a much more friendly environment that a forest of bare toplevels! OCs are especially welcome! Please take a quick look at our Directory & familiarize yourself with the concept and setting of the game before you jump in.

Our upcoming app round runs October 25th–November 1st, but for once we’re breaking with tradition and instead of an upcoming Jaunt, we have a special, upcoming, multi-week Liminal Space event called Welcome to the World Series, which heralds the end of Phase Two and the start of Phase Three of the game of Synodiporia. Having chosen their Champions in Phase Two, the mysterious entities known as the Trumps are divvying up the rest of the Travelers--and in Phase Three they’re playing for keeps.

Prompt #43 is set in an agricultural-themed liminal space—with a bit of fabrics and crafts thrown in.

Prompt #44 is set in the dreaming realm known as Questing Country. Here, with the aid of their Animal Companions, young lucid dreamers from a variety of species (crystalline Hecatites, long-lived Elves, aquatic Vodyanoi, bone-spurred and four-armed Spartoi, scaled Gorgons with their petrifying abilities and tentacled hair, and your bog-standard humans) fight together as Champions against the monsters that arise from the collective unconscious of their species… for now, anyway. At least until they grow up, burn out, or go wrong.

Prompt #43

Right now, Liminal Space is a patchwork of farmland--a literal patchwork, as the ground under the Travelers’ feet is printed fabric, sewn together as if it were a quilt. One patch has a field of lettuce, another a printed field of corn and so on and so forth. Just about every crop is represented in quilted form, including ones that aren’t exactly… standard. Or legal.

Crocheted farm animals roam atop the fields, making needle-clicking sounds whenever they open their mouths, beaks, and snouts. Here and there lie irons, face down, luckily not at all hot. If you climb on top of one, it should be possible to ride it around like a tractor.

As for the farmhouse, barn, and silo? Travelers might be able to see the plush shape of them on the horizon, but no matter how long they travel in that direction, they’ll never get any closer.

Prompt #44

Whether Fire Mushrooms from Nuclear Winter, Men-in-Black from Conspiracy Country, Plague Vectors from the Softened Caverns, Horned Masters from the Stealing Ships, or any of the manifold Nightmares that haunt Questing Country and cause it to summon its Champions, there is one thing all these enemies have in common: they arise from the fears and worries of their world.

Some of these Nightmares are seasonal.

It’s Exam Season again on Hecate, the annual time during its longer-than-Earth year when the young people of that planet take the tests that will determine both their future careers and their very right to be regarded as adults in Hecatite society--as well as the annual practice exams to ready them for it. To be young and Hecatite during Exam Season is to be in a very stressful situation, no matter your capabilities. So much is riding on the results.

So it’s really not surprising that the twenty-foot-tall Test Proctors from the Hallowed Halls of Education positively swarm from the time that the tests begin until the day the results are posted. The Proctors work to corner any young person they can find, essaying volley after volley of exam questions at them until they fail or give up or attack the Proctor--and that’s when the Proctors get nasty.

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Drizzt had more than the sight and voice of Zaknafein to go by. Not that Jarlaxle would know the desperate moments when they had first met again, or when Drizzt had fallen into a tearful heap with his father. Or anything of dozen of new memories that very clearly told Drizzt that his father was real, alive, and with him.

He would feel bad about Jarlaxle's feelings if he knew them, able to easily extrapolate how it would feel if something like Zaknafein forgetting him had happened. But he doesn't know, and he doesn't trust like he should. What took decades to build up may not be impossible to replace, as other duties or interests will not constantly keep them away from each other. But it will still take time.

Drizzt just notes that Jarlaxle is back to being unreadable and just as confusing as ever before he opens his mind to his father, calling out to him. It isn't long before the two of them settle on a location only several minutes away from Drizzt to meet. For now, he keeps Jarlaxle out of the conversation, wanting to physically reunite the two of them. Mental connections just aren't enough, and Jarlaxle will only believe it when he sees Zaknafein himself.

"Father will meet us near a house several minutes away, and then you can see that it is truly him," Drizzt breaks the silence suddenly, turning to look at the brigand for a moment before he begins to walk towards the appointed place. "You don't believe it's really him, do you?"

At least Drizzt sounds sympathetic.

He'd believe it when he could hear Zak speak. When he could listen to him, touch him, assure himself that what he was witnessing wasn't false or some illusion made up by a mad sorcerer or a desperate wish.

Drizzt might never know them, of course. Not for a long, long time. Jarlaxle preferred to keep such things private, and if they reached such a point as where they had left each other, even then Drizzt may never know the hurt. Because it wasn't Drizzt's fault that he no longer knew the mercenary. It was by no device of his own that he'd not forgotten, but simply didn't know Jarlaxle for long enough.

The brigand would just have to fix that problem himself, and with time and a careful hand.

He began to follow, his mind carefully going over everything that had been said, and every memory he had of Zak himself. If anyone could tell if what he was seeing was false or not, it'd be Jarlaxle. Even a hair out of place could alert him.

"Your father has been dead for quite a long time." Softly spoken, faintly thoughtful, the pain and regret from that time buried and hidden.

"I'd be as likely to believe Malice has risen again."

"If Malice shows, we will kill her," Drizzt snaps with sudden coldness, a flare of anger rising up; he is starting to grasp how much his father had suffered because of her. "I'll not let her anywhere near my father again."

The protectiveness is new, but it is something that Drizzt already feels strongly. Drizzt knows his father is broken in many ways, and he feels that most of them tie back to his mother. He knows that there are times where Zaknafein had more difficulties than others, and that more than once, Drizzt's presence has ended those moments. But not all of them. There is precious little Drizzt can do for his father's nightmares, much to his distress.

"I know it is him because it is him. The way he moves, the way he speaks, the way he loves me—and I have felt the third directly, as the so-called network can carry emotion." Drizzt's voice stays resolute until that last bit when his voice is takes on a gentler tone, albeit not much. "Perhaps I could be fooled for a moment, but I knew it was him the second our gazes met. I've never had a reason to question the truth before me."

Someone's convinced that he's been reunited with his father, fully and completely.

"We shall indeed." Easy and to the point. He'd relish being able to kill her multiple times.

The protectiveness is new, but he knew this was real. Zak had never been the one to accept help or protection, Jarlaxle himself knew that the weapons master wouldn't accept it. Considering all the times the brigand had tried to get him to leave. Take his boychild and depart with Jarlaxle, abandon the house, abandon the matriarch, abandon everyone and become a part of Bregan D'arth.

More regret that he'd never convinced him to properly.

Love. Something that he knew Zak had, but he'd never been sure the male knew what it was. Just a warm, deep feeling, but a nameless one. "I understand." And that was it. Still completely unreadable, but at least Drizzt was no longer fixed with that piercing crimson stare.

Well, at least he could trust Jarlaxle to help him kill Malice if she was ever revived. Not that she would likely be, as she would not help the Trumps' mission, whatever it was. She was useless to them.

Drizzt lets the conversation lapse into silence then, not sure how to feel about this. He wants to be elated for both his father and Jarlaxle, but he truly doesn't know the mercenary all that well. The ranger isn't even 100% convinced that it is Jarlaxle, considering how he's acted before. And right now, Jarlaxle is refusing to believe that Zaknafein is alive, which is fair enough. It's a little much for Jarlaxle to take his word on.

It's a couple more minutes before Drizzt speaks up again, and he doesn't stop walking as he goes around the corner of the street. "Just around this bend, and you will see the truth for what it is."

At least there was that. He knew for a fact Malice wouldn't be helpful to anyone. If they wanted to get anywhere, Malice wouldn't be helpful.

Nope, not much else to say. Jarlaxle was oddly silent for now, so it would appear, staring ahead and waiting, watching for Zak.

"I hope I will." He stated, his tone quiet as they rounded the corner.

Drizzt then pauses for a moment in his steps a few ahead of Jarlaxle, and despite the seriousness of the situation, manages to quip: "And it seems you can also meet his new wife, Elphaba."

...Wait.

WAIT

He moves in the blink of an eye, his hand darting out and grabbing Drizzt's shoulder, yanking the younger drow back.

"Wife?"

Unfortunately, at that moment Elphaba comes around the corner behind them and sees a drow accosting Drizzt, and doesn't see any reason not to act now.

She swings her broom, hard, aiming for the hatted head of the guy seemingly harassing Drizzt.

"GET YOUR HAND OFF HIM OR I'LL HIT YOU AGAIN! ZAKNAFIEN! ZAK! THERE'S ANOTHER DROW!" she yells, readying her broom for another swing.

Drizzt is taken by surprise when Jarlaxle pulls him back, and before he can do more than turn to face him, Elphaba comes to his 'aid'.

"Wife," Drizzt states dryly, merely leaning away from Jarlaxle, letting him get hit. "It's tradition for her to hit people with her broom upon greeting them."

And then broom. Just broom, in the head. Here we go. Why. WHAT DID HE DO HE DOESN'T GET- okay no that's a lie there is plenty he's done just not recently.

He takes the broom with a yelp, but manages to snag his hat before it goes anywhere, trying to hop and dance out of Elphaba's range.

Which is hard because that's one hell of a broom.

"Madam-"

Zaknafein is already on his way, especially after seeing Elphaba dart off so quickly. The warning about another drow makes his breathe catch and his hands go directly to his sword hilts, knowing all too well that she could be dead in the seconds it would take him to get there.

What are the chances?

He can't even begin to fathom.

His flurry of motion comes to a skidding halt a few feet away when he spies that familiar plumed hat and bald head. Unlike the other two drow present, he hasn't ruined his eyes by staring at the sun so the hood of his long, black sweater is pulled up over his head and he's wearing a pair of sunglasses that were gifted to him by another kind traveler. His vision is still blurred a great deal, but the drow before him is far too distinct for him to not be able to tell who it is.

"... Jarlaxle?"

"Wait, you know him?" Elphaba asks, keeping her broom raised to swing again and still looking fierce. "Do I need to hit him again?"

Perhaps he should have warned them in advance that he was bringing a drow with him at least, but... Nah. This was pretty hysterical. Drizzt knows that it may get emotional for Zaknafein and Jarlaxle, but for the moment, he's enjoying himself immensely.

"We both know him," Drizzt replies to her reassuringly. "So you should hit him one more time for good measure. I'm sure he's done something to deserve it."

Unfortunately, because Jarlaxle has been acting quite familiar, Drizzt knows he'll be in no danger because of this suggestion; it's too bad for Jarlaxle that he showed that hand to Drizzt so soon! It also has the added benefit of letting his father's mind catch up with what's happening. Having a friend show up so suddenly would be surprising.

Drizzt you have made a powerful enemy and he will find a way to get back at you, mark his words. He moves to try and block the broom, not yank it away or smack at it, due to the fact that Drizzt seems so endeared to her and if she was, in fact, Zaknafein's new wife, he didn't want to be terrifically offensive.

BUT REALLY-

Any sort of argument died on his lips the moment Zaknafein spoke, and the brigand froze, turning his head to stare at what he had once been so sure was an illusion.

No.

It was not false. He could tell that immediately, he knew what and who he was looking at.

"... Zak." Like he couldn't believe what he was looking at, the word hushed and almost breathless.

There was no question if he could make it to Zak without being swatted by that broom. It may as well have been he teleported to the weapons master's side, slipping past Elphaba with fluid ease.

"I know him." He says reassuringly to the adorably fierce, broom wielding woman that is indeed his new wife. Though right now his attention is solely on the other drow, crimson eyes shielded behind dark glass.

It feels like ages since he'd seen Jarlaxle last, time trapped in the Abyss can hardly be a measured thing. Though if time had passed for the brigand as it had for Drizzt it may seem as long for him as well. He certainly seems older. Different in some ways but still so very much himself.

The partially unsheathed blades snap back into their scabbards and he stands up straighter to face Jarlaxle as he approaches. His heart twists sharply, feeling his regret over distancing himself from his friend a lot more sharply now that he's been free from the hell that had become his life.

He should have run, he can see that now.

"It is I, my friend. Impossible as that may be."

She's very adorable, but he'd really rather not be beat about the head by a broom right now. Or ever. Ever, Zak.

He understood the glasses well enough, but he still had to stop himself from trying to remove them from Zak's face, wanting to really... see his face, all of his face. Jarlaxle was older, though to any human he'd still look as young and as handsome as any other elf. He himself was studying Zak closely, trying to gauge when he'd actually been taken. He looked as he'd remembered him... Everything had been so perfectly restored.

"Impossible." There's a short, breathless, disbelieving laugh. "I suppose that would be the word for it- Perhaps improbable suits it more now. It is, apparently, entirely possible." A weak attempt at a joke, and there was a faint crack in his voice. One Jarlaxle swallowed immediately.

"What manner of power has returned you...? Is it you, Zaknafein? Is it you wholly?"

"The Trumps." Elphaba supplies, lowering her broom with a sigh. "Time is... not a restraint to when they take people. There is another Traveler among us who is from my homeland but many generations in to the future."

She rubs a bit at the tattoo on her finger, sighing.

"Time, place, even different world entirely. None of it is a boundary for them."

After a long moment of watching the two other drow interact, Drizzt moves to Elphaba's side and slightly behind her, touching her shoulder as he speaks just to her. "He knows. I told him, but his thoughts rested entirely on Zaknafein. And they still do."

If Drizzt had any doubts that Jarlaxle and Zaknafein were friends, they are gone now. Not with the way that either of them is acting now, especially Jarlaxle. He knew that it was Zaknafein at first glance, just like Drizzt had. Jarlaxle's voice had emotion in it that Drizzt had never heard from the older drow.

Watching the two, Drizzt is at least now fairly convinced that he can trust Jarlaxle, and a holy convinced that he is not any sort of imposter. He cares about Zaknafein, and it also seems that he cares about Drizzt himself. It really does raise a number of questions, none of which Drizzt will ask right now. Not at this moment, when he feels like he is intruding.

Edited 2016-10-17 12:57 (UTC)

Zaknafein's attention is now solely on the other drow. He can tell that Jarlaxle is older, that time has passed even without having Drizzt to tell him so. The weapon's master steps even closer, wanting to see him more clearly. Different yes, older yes, but still Jarlaxle. Somehow the brigand had managed to hold onto a deeper sense of self through the centuries than he'd ever been able to.

"Truthfully, I do not know the why, only that I was the first of us to be brought here." The truth of the when he'd been taken is hidden under his shirt, the frightful, twisted scar over his heart and those acquired as he'd been forced to endure well beyond his own death.

It honestly surprises him to see Jarlaxle so emotional, especially over him. He had retreated into his own, personal hell for so long he'd practically forgotten that once the other drow had actually cared when they were young, and there's part of him doesn't want to believe that Jarlaxle still could to such a degree.

He is such a fool.

"It is I, old friend. Not Zin'carla, or even the Weapons Master of House Do'Urden." He says softly, but with conviction. "For now I am just Zaknafein."

Sorry Elphaba. Sorry Drizzt. As far as Jarlaxle is concerned right now, it's just him and Zak.

He was emotional, much to his own surprise as well. It didn't happen often, he could count on one hand when he felt his heart rise into his throat like this. And most of those times had been due to Drizzt.

This, however, was different. He reached out, gently resting a hand on Zak's shoulder, peering at him with the one uncovered eye in slowly fading disbelief, and growing awe.

And hope.

"... Just Zaknafein... Is more than fine with me, my friend."

Zaknafein is not free from his demons, or that dark pit that had caused him to pull so far away from Jarlaxle in the first place, to put up a nearly impenetrable wall between him and all others. Drizzt had begun to pull him out all those years ago in Menzoberranzan, and the more he's around these surface folk, around Elphaba, the more free of it he fills. He still has a long road to travel, but he's not alone in it anymore.

So Jarlaxle will be able to see more of Zaknafein in his eyes and smile than has been there in centuries. The former weapons master lifts a hand to rest over the one on his shoulder, but then he surges forward to pull the other drow into a tight embrace.

"I am sorry." He says, still after all this time blaming himself for what happened between them. "For everything."

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Test Drive #16

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Drizzt the Asshole 2: The Assholening

ur fired

WIFE!!

HI "MOM"

/scream

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