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.

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TAKEN
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CANON UPDATES
REWARDS
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WORLD
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CALENDAR
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MOD CONTACT
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Comments

iii

[itselbitch]

[ eliot had been limping along with his cane when he'd heard the commotion. he'd done rather well himself from keeping away from anything aggressive, so the sight of a giant snake ghost trying to murder someone, when there are already very few someones around, is a very distressing bit of knowledge to gain.

luckily for the strange man charging at the thing with a knife (not even a sword. like. why?), eliot is a magician trained in kinesis and a skilled one to boot. using the shit does require some reasonable range though, so sorry that he has to hobble closer first before he can do anything.

once he's within distance, he's already tucked his cane under his arm, signing poppers with his hands. he takes a few more steps closer, without the cane, before finishing the spell, thrusting out an invisible force that shoves the shadow away from its prey for a least a few moments. ]

Haven't you ever heard of picking on someone your own size? [ he calls to the creature. it's maybe not the best idea he's ever had, but he doesn't really want to be standing around when this other guy gets gored to death by a large serpent either. this way, at least the guy can probably get away. assuming he doesn't continue with the stabby stabby routine. ]

[ragnarsson]

[Unfortunately for Eliot, Ivar seems anything but grateful at having the help. He has such a prickly pride when it comes to being able to fight on his own. As a cripple, he already has such a tough time holding his own that he sees any intervention on his behalf as a sign of pity from the other person.

Being a Viking, if he falls in battle, he's going to Valhalla, so he sees nothing wrong with trying to take on a shadowy, nigh-invulnerable creature that is very far out of his league in fighting. When he sees Eliot, he yells out something in Old Norse which sounds rather terrifying.]

Ek vil-k nauðr þinn hjálpa!

['I don't need your help!' There were many words for help in Old Norse. That particular word, hjálpa, has a connotation of help in the sense of saving someone, which showed how mad Ivar really was. He was going to be a fool about this and not back down even when that's the best thing for him.]

[itselbitch]

[ well, then. that. certainly wasn't english. having studied at brakebills, eliot's definitely comprehensive in several languages, mostly in relevance to spells, but this doesn't quite match anything he's had to study before (or that he cheated on). it seems nordic, at least. almost icelandic.

he has to pick apart what he remembers and frankenstein it with bits from spells to figure out what he wants to say, but in the meantime, he takes the time to gesture with his hands again, this time to drives the beast hard into the ground since clearly this is just going to be a fight so he may as well take it more seriously. the shadow writhes in rage, the impact having forced a gouge into the dirt. ]

Ég skil þig ekki. Getur þú skilið þetta?

[ 'i don't understand you. can you understand this?' his icelandic pronunciation isn't as good as it probably could be if he'd bothered studying more (damnit, he really should have), but it's the best he can offer as he continues to approach. he does wince with each step without the use of his cane though, so he's not getting too close to the thing he just severely pissed off, thank you very much. ]

[ragnarsson]

[Ivar's quite shocked and it shows on his face, wiping the anger completely off of it for the moment. No one else he's met here has been able to understand him at all, neither in Norse or Old English. Granted, some of the words Eliot speaks seem off, mainly in pronunciation. Ivar is also definitely going to sound like the way someone speaking Shakespearean English would sound to someone in present day with how archaic some of his words are.]

About time someone in this miserable place has understood me! Where did you learn to speak the tongue of the Norsemen?

[The shadow appears to be trying to rise back up. Ivar puts the knife back in his vest and takes the axe off from where he has it strapped to his back. He slams it down with an air approaching nonchalance on the creature's head, which doesn't seem to do much, but at least it makes him feel happy.]

[itselbitch]

[ when he actually tries to understand, eliot's surprised what he can manage to figure out, though needing to translate it twice in his head is probably going to give him a headache down the line. he manages to parse more this time around, now that he knows what he's listening for. there were also spells in old norse within his curriculum, so even if it's not quite the same as really knowing how to answer fluently, it's still something he can work with.

if ivar is shakespearean, eliot is a bristolian farmer. ]

For magic? [ he sounds uncertain when he says it because he's technically not even supposed to let normal people see him using magic, but extreme times call for extreme answers, he guesses. and this guy seems kind of happy now which is also kind of confusing?

but maybe start with the axe next time, kid. ]

Why you still fighting? Your leg. [ let's not be stupid here, he wants to say, but his vocabulary wouldn't be able to translate the tone and colloquialism well. ]

[ragnarsson]

Magic? You are a sorcerer then?

[Ivar's attention is torn from the shadow creature, who is attempting to rise again, and towards Eliot. He looks him over with an appraising eye.]

You don't look like much of one.

[Don't mind the insult, Eliot, he's like this with everyone he meets. Ivar looks down at his legs at the question. There's a snort of disdain from him. He's heard that before, too many times, but it never gets easier to hear.]

Yes, yes, I know, how can a cripple who can't walk even fight? [He dismisses the words with a curt and rather alarming wave of his axe like he's cutting the words right out of the air.] If I let being a cripple stop me from fighting, I'd have never gotten anywhere in life.

[itselbitch]

[ frankly, the insult doesn't bother him in the slightest since eliot looks more like royalty than anything else anyway, due to his being a dandy but especially since he's still dressed in a vest, dress shirt, and tie. with how old the language being used is though, something tells eliot that this angry teenager wouldn't know a modern day magician if he saw one anyway, never mind that eliot literally just slammed the snake into the ground like it was no big deal, so.

but anyway, for eliot, the question isn't aimed to contest a cripple being able to fight. eliot was definitely wondering more why the hell this kid would rather continue this when they could be heading elsewhere where they won't have to die today.

but how to. phrase that. hm. ]

I just meant to get to safety, kid. Fight if you want, but don't fight to lose. That's idiotic.

[ with the shadow now coming for him, eliot starts in on using actual battle magic since, having lost someone dear recently, the potency of his focused magic is far stronger. eliot gestures signals with his arms and hands, realigning his focus in order to release a charged attack. while the serpent draws nearer, he bides his time, waiting for the right moment.

when it comes, he releases the spell, twisting his wrists and thrusting his palms outward, a charged sphere of fire and kinetic energy hurtling toward the creature. sparks fly as the mass strikes, and the beast hisses and writhes angrily in pain, tail thrashing about and flailing dangerously close to ivar. ]

[ragnarsson]

[Ivar draws himself up to his full height of six feet, which looks rather more impressive given he's usually slumping over leaning on his hand crutch. There's a lot of pride in him.]

I am hardly a child. And fighting is what Norsemen live for.

[Wherever this guy had learned how to speak Old Norse, clearly he hadn't spent a lot of time around actual Norsemen, or he'd not be surprised at all that a Viking was willing to die for a senseless fight instead of retreat when it was prudent. They were weird like that, but it did help to have a huge psychological advantage in battle when you weren't scared of dying and the enemy was.

Despite almost being squashed flat by the shadow beast, Ivar is more interested in watching the display of magic. He can't move fast, but move he can, and he gets out of range of the shadow snake's range.]

Do that again!

[Yes, because Eliot is here for his entertainment, obviously. Sorry, magician, you're stuck with a lunatic for a companion for the foreseeable future.]

[itselbitch]

[ were eliot waugh anyone else, the effect of the kid (yes, kid because his response to eliot's completely logical advice still indicates that he is just that) standing tall would likely be properly impressive, or at the least his full height would feel imposing in some way. however, eliot waugh, even vain, isn't quite delusional in seeing himself as tall, dark and handsome. even with a cane, he stands his full height of six-foot-two.

but, okay, now that he thinks about it more, he's remembering the whole thing about how people think vikings are so badass specifically because of doing weird self-sacrificial shit in the name of the battle. hell, isn't that the premise of how to train your dragon? hiccup is a toothpick and therefore needs to make a dragon friend to feel his existence is worth something to his peers? too bad ivar isn't anything like hiccup, because eliot would have much preferred that if he had a choice.

not-hiccup, as eliot has deems to call him now since he doesn't yet know his real name, cheers him on like a school boy watching a fight in the schoolyard, and the magician huffs a disappointed sigh, a mistake since it strains the wound on his stomach, but still altogether necessary, he thinks. he doesn't really need the encouragement to know to keep fighting. rather than charging up something significant this time, he uses the fact he can still wield the attack to his advantage. if the shadow feels any genuine distress from the last strike (which it definitely seems to have), then it only needs to know the threat remains. unlike not-hiccup, most other creatures have a sense of self-preservation and know better than to just. die for the hell of it.

he throws bursts of fire and energy, three times in quick succession. it's enough that the serpent hisses angrily again and hesitates when it manages to find it's bearings. the downside of it being a shadowy thing is it's hard to gauge exactly how much damage has been done to it at this point, but eliot takes the hesitation as a good sign, charging up an attack again, less powerful than the first, and directing the mass toward the creature's head. ]

[ragnarsson]

[If he spends any amount of time around Ivar, Eliot will quickly come to realize just how different the teen's mindset is from someone in the modern day. Granted, some of that can be chalked up just to big cultural differences, but quite a bit of it is just the fact that Ivar is completely batshit insane, even for a Viking. He has no fear and has pushed himself so hard his entire life that he never sees his limits, only obstacles to overcome.

Seeing as how he's become a bit superfluous to the combat going on, Ivar just scuttles off to the side so that he doesn't get hit with an errant bit of magic. Getting injured for him is a lot more serious then other people considering how easily his bones break. The curse of brittle bone syndrome.

It looks like Eliot has just put down the beast for good. Then it starts reforming once again. Ivar's finally starting to take note of just how indestructible this shadow monster is.]

Damn. This thing doesn't know when to quit.

[itselbitch]

[ eliot sighs to himself as the ultimately bodiless shadow refuses to simply disintegrate or leave. when is it ever easy? oh, right. never. this is why he'd been concerned though, as his own experience with things that tended toward corporeal-when-i-damn-well-please were less than pleasant and usually involved a lot of hasty distractions and running.

at least he's managed to drive it back, but being wounded, eliot also know his control can't hold forever. this isn't like welters where he is given a chance to recover as his other teammates take their turns on the board. eventually his body will start to feel the strain of using magic, and since he's already injured, it's probably not the best idea to push the envelope. ]

Do you maybe feel like changing your mind now? There's clearly some part of the picture that we're missing here, and not that I don't want to kill it too, but I doubt that's going to happen in the next hour, if even that.

[ragnarsson]

[Ivar gives a long and dramatic sigh as he stares longingly at the beast, clearly wanting to continue what appears to be an ultimately futile struggle. There's a roll of the eyes as he turns to look at Eliot.]

If you insist.

[Still, he can't just let this go without one last parting shot. He's not about to waste an axe or one of his knives when he knows he likely won't be able to retrieve it. So he manages to get a stray pipe up off the ground and throws it with unerring accuracy. Ivar's strength lies in long-range weapons and the pipe pierces the snake. It doesn't do too much besides stun it for a moment as it's forced to reform once again.]

Alright, now we can leave.

[Ivar, despite being nineteen, could be almost childish in his glee at causing violence and chaos. He limped over to Eliot. He couldn't move fast, so they were going need a bit of time to get away from this shadow creature.]

[itselbitch]

[ yes, he does insist, though he does get where this young man is coming from. he lets the kid have his last attack (it's petty, but, again, eliot gets it) before nodding toward the easiest path for them to take. ]

I'll slow it whenever it tries to catch up.

[ while not as slow, eliot still does have to hobble along himself, if not using the cane. buying time seems easy enough compared to taking down a shadow with a proverbial undo button. ]

What's your name?

[ragnarsson]

Ivar Ragnarsson. Ivar The Boneless to friends and enemies alike.

[The way he pronounces his name makes it sound as if there are two R's to the end of his name since the R is rolled. 'Ivar hinn Beinlausi' is how his nickname comes out in Old Norse. The name of one of the most famous and feared Viking kings that had ever ruled during the Viking Era.]

And you, sorcerer?

[itselbitch]

[ even ivar's introduction is so dramatic. it's oddly endearing, and eliot is glad he's found someone so boldly drastic.

he offers a faint smile and a formal bow of his head, the most that can really be offered as they make their escape. ]

King Eliot of Fillory. [ ...which is definitely not how he'd introduce himself on earth normally, but he wants to match some of this young man's theatrics. sue him. ]

[ragnarsson]

That makes two of us.

[He's still a king even if his brother overthrew him, godsdammit. Ivar will take back what is his with blood and fire...eventually. Right now, he's just settling for surviving everything that has been thrown at him of late. He gives Eliot another up and down assessing look.]

I assume you must use magic to maintain your position. You don't seem like much of a warrior.

[That's how Viking kings kept their power. It was like being the alpha in a wolf pack: you only kept your position as long as you were the strongest one in the group. Any fear, any hesitation or weakness shown, and Vikings would swiftly turn on their king.]

[itselbitch]

[ wait, this kid is a king?

well. okay. that. probably needs reexamination if his first instinct is to charge in all the time. eliot has to fight the urge to roll his eyes when he feel ivar's gaze raking across him in judgement. ]

Actually, it didn't have to do with power. [ it was more like he showed up and passed a weird knife test that said he was supposed to be king and then married his destined wife to become said king. but details. ] Diplomacy is much more favored in Fillory. A strong army is good but can't trump diplomacy.

And anyway, I know how to use a sword. [ not that he's an expert, but he can use one, and he will defend that until someone challenge him to an actual sword fight. ]

[ragnarsson]

[To be fair, Ivar was a terrible king, running his kingdom along the lines of a dictatorship. He was much better at being a warlord, fighting and conquering the English countryside. Yet he'd still somehow inspired some people enough for them to be willing to die for him in battle. He was a strange one like that.]

Diplomacy? Bah. [He waves the word away with his left hand.] Diplomacy does a lot of good when there's an army that wants blood at your door and will accept nothing else. One of the kings I killed offered me gold, silver, anything me and my brothers wanted to spare his life. But when someone wants revenge, nothing will convince them otherwise. We killed him with the bloðorn.

['Blood-eagle.' It's a word that didn't have a good modern equivalent, but he said it with an ominous tone. It was one of the worst deaths that the Vikings could give to their enemies.]