THE SKY WENT OFF-WHITE.

[wastemods]

WHO: Anyone and everyone.
WHAT: Our inaugural test drive meme.
WHERE: Anywhere in the world core.
WHEN: Whenever your character arrives.
NOTES: Expect surreal horror and possible violence. Please use common sense when warning for other content.

Art by Basile Godard

THE SUNLIGHT SPLINTERED.

You reach the end of the ash-gray hall at a run, hands fumbling for an antique door handle. And then you stumble, fall, tumble—any number of adjectives, depending on where, exactly, the door opened—into a radio station.

The equipment is old and dusty, but devoid of cobwebs to the observant eye. And it's dark, save for whatever light makes it through the windows. They display disjointed locations; perhaps one shows an upside-down tower, while its neighbors frame the crumbling pavement of a rotting car park and the stripped out interior of a sewer. Whatever the case, peering through one window reveals a landscape that impossibly doesn't connect to the next.

The door is still there, the only exit to this grubby room. It opens somewhere, anywhere else in this distorted world. And once you leave, it no longer leads back whence you came.

Where do you go?

THE LIGHT, DIVIDED.

A sun on one horizon, a full moon on the other. They're luminous but unreal, like they were plucked from a sky and pasted to a flat, starless backdrop. You can see only one, depending on which side you entered; it's essentially random. Both "sides" overlap like alternate dimensions and you can't see anyone who isn't on the same side as you. Light or dark, you walk in the light of a muted sun or an overbright moon. It never feels quite real.

Neither star nor satellite seem to move from their position. The passage of time is at a standstill.

Regardless of which side you're on, you'll find signs that you aren't alone. What someone does on one side affects the other, so moving an item or writing something down will translate to floating items and mysteriously appearing letters. Speech doesn't travel...unless there's a radio. Radios may turn on and off, with voices audible through the white noise. And if you walk past a mirror, the reflection isn't your own. Instead, it acts as a window to the other side.

In-character observations:

• Anyone sensitive to time, space, and related dimensional shenanigans will feel they're distorted. And it isn't something they can fix, at least not with powers.
• It's possible to cross dimensions if a character has related powers, but they'll suffer backlash and significant stress from the transition. Successive jumps aren't gonna fly.
• If a character is affected by the sun or moon, they'll find neither holds sway over them here; e.g., vampires can walk in daylight and werewolves won't shift in the full moon.

TL;DR: Whatever this is, it isn't natural.

THE SHADOW REALM.

Outdoors, there are shadows on the prowl.

Silent and eerily insubstantial, they trail after you like blind spots given form. Staring at them too long is unsettling but, for the most part, they're content to watch you back...if they can watch. They don't seem to have eyes.

When that isn't enough, however, they attack. Stealing the shape of monsters from other worlds, they may lack special powers, but that doesn't keep them from being dangerous. When in doubt, you're safest indoors.

But maybe that isn't good enough for you. Or maybe you just fucked up. Either/or.

RADIO WAVES.

If you aren't wondering how you got here, you're probably at least asking why. Unfortunately, there doesn't seem to be anyone around who can answer your questions. Everyone else is as clueless as you.

But, some time after you arrive—whether it's days, hours, minutes, or seconds—the dead air stirs. The atmospheric pressure drops and playhouse lightning arcs across the facsimile of a sky. It's a storm that warns of what's to come, as an earthquake shifts the ground beneath your feet. Around you, buildings flood, and water pours out in falls only half aware of gravity. Wind hurls debris at such high speeds, it turns into shrapnel. Rain pelts you from above and below as the temperature plummets. It starts to snow.

Somehow, the sun and moon remain visible through the turmoil. A collection of mirrors scattered through the world don't reflect their light; instead, it passes through them and illuminates the other side. These specific mirrors, all set in ash-gray frames that match the halls, are untouched in the unfolding natural disasters, and standing before them will shield you as well. Consider them havens in the chaos, proverbial eyes in the storm.

In the dark, a radio turns on of its own accord. Is someone—something—talking to you?

INTO ALL OUR DARKEST FEARS.

Welcome to THE WASTEYARD's first test drive! Some quick things to remember:

• Our TDMs tie into the game plot. As such, any applicants can keep their TDM threads as game canon.
• The network is exclusive to in-game characters. TDM characters can only use radios.
• There is a language barrier, so please mention what language your character speaks somewhere.
• We don't have a fixed day ratio; instead, you pace yourself at your discretion.
• Characters may face backlash when using any powers.
• Mark if your character is on the sun or moon side of the divide. The choice is yours as the player.
• If you have any questions, please direct them to our FAQ!

And that's all, folks. So take chances, make mistakes, and get messy!

NAVIGATION.

PREMISE
RULES
FAQ
ACTIVITY
APPLICATIONS

TAKEN
HIATUSES & DROPS
CANON UPDATES
REWARDS
TPC CLAIMS

WORLD
EXPLORATION
DEVICES
QUESTS
INFORMATION

CALENDAR
SUGGESTIONS
MOD CONTACT
SETTING INBOX
CODEBOOK

Comments

[ragnarsson]

[Logan sheathing his claws doesn't seem to calm Ivar down at all. He keeps his axe up, eyeing the distance between the two of them as if he's deciding if he could throw hard enough to bury it in the man's skull from where he's at. His next words are nearly snarled out.]

Sitja bak. Gera eigi koma fœti einnhverr ná-lægr.

['Stay back. Don't come any closer.' There were many connotations for the word come in the Norse tongue. Koma fœti meant along the lines of 'set foot', particularly like someone coming closer in a battle.

[snikthatch]

[ Logan doesn't recognise his words but he definitely understands the tone. Unfortunately, he's not about to back down just because he's being threatened with what looks to be a fairly mundane weapon.

He takes a step forward, hands still raised. ]

Come on, bub, don't make this any harder'n it needs to be.

[ragnarsson]

[All that does is get Ivar to swipe at Logan's arm, intending to leave a deep slash. It's a firm warning. Back off, dude. He doesn't understand you and isn't about to be pacified by any calming words.]

Snerta mjöðr en andask!

['Touch me and die!' He proclaims. Sorry, Logan, he's going to be a difficult kid to deal with.]

[snikthatch]

[ Logan could have dodged it, but instead he lets the axe graze across his arm. Lets the guy watch the cut heal on his skin, lets him see the blood well and run down to his elbow, and the gash disappear.

He shows his teeth a little. His patience is running thin, now. Time to try one last time. He takes another step towards the kid. ]

Look, I don't wanna hurt you.

[ragnarsson]

[Ivar watches with wide eyes as the skin heals over as if by magic. Okay, this is a very interesting monster. Clearly, that did nothing to dissuade Ivar into backing down. Then he makes a hum of appreciation in the back of his throat at seeing Logan's healing factor at work. What will happen if he tries to cut off his head?

But then Logan comes too close for comfort. Reacting on instinct that runs all the way down to the bone, he slams the axe right into Logan's chest. He'd say he was sorry, but Ivar almost never regrets attempting to kill anyone.]

[snikthatch]

[ Logan catches the spark of appreciation in the man's eyes. Unfortunately he's known far too many assholes who were into lopping bits off of him to see what grew back to be comfortable with that.

Then he goes and does exactly what Logan thought he might do. Logan watches the twisted muscles in his body move as he shifts stance to swing the axe. Gauges the arc of impact.

Doesn't move.

The axe thuds into his chest, cutting through fabric and skin and muscle until it hits the wall of his adamantium-covered ribcage, a jarring blow. Logan grunts and falls back a step, axe still buried in his chest, fighting back the rising waves of red-washed pain that threaten his ability to think. The animal in him is awake and ready for vengeance, snarling and snapping teeth against the bars of its cage.

Instead, he lifts his head and looks Ivar in the eye. Raises his hands and lets his claws slide out again. ]

One last chance, bub.

[ragnarsson]

[He can't die. That takes a moment to register in Ivar's brain. He can't die. When the claws come back out, Ivar decides that this might be one situation where backing down is more prudent then trying to continue the fight. He's not sure if dying in a fight with a humanoid monster that has claws and can heal from anything is enough to get him to Valhalla and he's not about to find out.

He holds up the hand not holding the crutch keeping him upright in a movement that suggests he's finally taking Logan's warning to heart. He sound somewhat conciliatory as he speaks.]

Ek-k-at geta ykkr vilja endurskoða hǫfn sem gegn mér, vilja at ykkr?

['I don't suppose you'll reconsider holding that against me, will you?' Vilja at was a phrase that specifically meant the will or wish to attack someone, a specific phrase that cropped up more among the Norse then in most other societies..]

[snikthatch]

Yeah, yeah.

[ Logan lets him talk, sensing that the kid might have finally realised he's over-matched. He lets his claws snakt back into his arms and grasps the handle of the axe in his chest. Grits his teeth against the pain and tugs, hard. The weapon comes free with wet scraping noise as the metal edge grates over his sternum. Blood sheets down Logan's front.

He lets the axe fall to the ground and leans over a little, groaning and panting as blood splatters his boots. The burning ache of healing throbs across his chest. ]

Thanks for the welcome, kid. [ He looks up at Ivar. ] Can't say I want to repeat it.

[ragnarsson]

[Damn, this monster-man is kind of badass. Ivar can respect anyone who can yank an axe out of their own chest...surprisingly, this has happened more then once for him. Once, his own brother did it, intent on killing Ivar with the same axe. He pushes that thought away quickly from his mind. He doesn't like to think of that day too often.

Ivar's swift to retrieve his axe from where it drops onto the ground. He doesn't offer any helping hand to Logan. He's a bit hot-headed, but he's not stupid, and getting near a monster that could easily gut him after he just stabbed him with an axe doesn't sound like a good idea.

He shrugs at the words he can't understand. An apology is not going to be forthcoming. Instead, he carefully pokes Logan with the wooden handle of the axe as if testing to see what he will do next. Ivar, no, don't poke the Wolverine. He also asks a question.]

þinn namn?

['Your name?' All cool monsters should have badass names.]

[snikthatch]

[ It's one thing to be attacked and chopped with an axe by a scrawny renn faire reject. It's a whole other thing to be attacked, chopped with an axe and then poked at like a goddamn side of meat.

The remainder of Logan's patience snaps like a twig.

Decades of martial combat training make it easy, despite his injury and the queasy vertigo of whatever hellhole they've ended up in: he steps in, knocks the handle of the axe away with the back of his wrist and kicks the kid's crutch out from under him in a single fluid movement. He follows him down just as fast, two claws flicking out to line up either side of Ivar's jaw, knuckles pushed up against his chin.

The kid doesn't look stupid; Logan figures he can work out the unspoken threat. Still, he leans in close anyway, and snarls. ]

Gimme one good reason not to send you to Valhalla, bub.



(ooc: lmk if this isn't ok and I can edit!)