The Village Mod (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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villagememes2020-11-19 10:10 pm
villagemod) wrote in villagememes2020-11-19 10:10 pm
Entry tags:
test drive — winter
WINTER TEST DRIVE
Welcome to the test drive and thank you for your interest in The Village. This test drive is not game canon but will allow players the opportunity to experiment with game mechanics, the setting, and the flexibility of choice allowed by this game. The following prompts are examples of typical situations characters might face in the game. At least one thread from the TDM is required as part of the game's application process.
The setting details and locations are still being unveiled in the game, so prospective players are welcome to play with established locations or create their own within the general setting of Mathias.( Recommended listening: ♫ )
INTO THE ENDLESS
Winter has arrived in Mathias. Snow falls steadily, big puffy flakes that pile up quickly in drifts as the wind blows them around town. The trees in the forest are covered in it, the branches bending under the weight and shaking when the piles fall from them to the forest floor. The roofs of buildings become solid white and drifts form in doorways as the wind tries to rush inside anywhere it can.
New arrivals wake in the forest, with its winding paths twisting back on themselves as they branch in either direction. It isn't safe to stray from the path, there is a menacing fog that waits just a few yards inward in any direction, but for now, there is nothing impeding movement along those snow-covered paths that cut through the trees. Continue stumbling in one direction and you'll reach the small town, coming out near the mishmash of quaint houses that nestle beside crumbling ruins that used to be homes. But choose the other and you'll seem to stumble on forever, huddling against the wind until there seems to be a clearing up ahead—
And then nothing. The earth opens up before you in a ravine so deep that the bottom cannot be seen. The other side can be seen, tantalizingly out of reach, and there is the sense that safety is just beyond, if only you could get there. But with that sensation is also the knowledge that if you stay here, you will die. The edge seems unsteady, like getting too close would set it crumbling and send you tumbling into that dark endless nothing that waits below...
BODIES WITHOUT SOULS
Benedict Books is nestled quaintly on the square surrounding Mathias's Town Hall, a thick layer of dirt covering the front windows. Looking through those windows provides a much different view than looking directly into the shop through the doorway — vague shapes and forms of figures seem to be inside, though no details can be determined through the streaks of grime. Flickers that resemble flashlights can be seen passing along the windows from time to time, and on occasion there is even a muffled tapping sound that comes from behind the glass, as if someone is trying to get your attention. The same distorted figures can be seen looking through the windows from the inside outward, but moving from one side or the other reveals... nothing. There is nothing there, and perhaps it is all in your imagination.
A portrait hangs at the front of the store to illustrate the namesake of the little shop... that may, in fact, not be so little. Dust covers everything in sight and detritus litters the wooden floor, as if someone left the door open and allowed half the forest inside.
The books are mostly familiar titles from the 1990s and earlier, but close examination will reveal that key details seem to have been changed. They fill shelves in neat lines along the walls and rows in between, the building almost seeming to stretch on forever until, finally, a small office can be seen tucked away in the back. A glance back toward the front door gives the impression that the room isn't that big, after all. Strange that you previously thought so.
Prying the door open is the only way to get inside the small office; the hinges have rusted and are caked with dirt and grime. Search as you might, there are no interesting bits of information to be found here beyond a few inventory lists on the little desk. There is, however, a green and gold safe in the corner that, no matter how many times one turns the dial, simply clicks and clicks. Scratches around the safe indicate that someone tried to get in at one point, though there's no indication as to whether they succeeded.
THE END APPROACHES
Standing at the center of Mathias, the town hall is a modest two-story building that would be welcoming if not for the faded sign, chipped paint, and deafening silence within its empty halls. It's a typical government building, with a reception desk at the front and rows of identical offices within, the names half faded from each door. But what catches the attention is a large bulletin board on the main wall beside the reception desk, once meant to hold flyers or announcements for the community.
What it holds now is decidedly different. Tacked onto the board are scraps of paper covered in an assortment of handwriting styles — requests for supplies should anyone find them, pieces of information shared in the hopes of someone understanding the strange symbols and mathematical equations, notes about those missing or recently deceased. And over the center of the board, tacked on top of other papers, is a map discolored with age. Mathias Township can be read in the corner, a stretch of forest displayed beneath it, but everything else has been smeared to illegibility with red... ink? Upon close examination, a keen eye will realize that the ink is actually blood, though whether it is human is unknown. And scrawled across that forest, nearly covering the illustration of a clearing and a large house within, are the wordshe is coming
A number of tarnished metal pushpins are scattered around the edges of the board, waiting for future messages to be shared, and a stack of pristine white paper and pile of cheap ballpoint pens rest on one of three chairs beside the board. The chairs are clearly meant for those waiting for meetings and are covered in the same layer of grime as everything else in the building — everything except the pens, paper, and bulletin board.
➝ without souls.
[ John is sitting against the wall near the office. A cigarette in his mouth that he lights, trenchcoat long and dusty from scrounging around the new area for a bit. He raises a hand and scratches the back of his head before blowing out a puff of smoke. ]
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Wear a bell.
He tries playing it off, tugging the bottom of his jacket. )
Spirits don't need their soul to haunt your ass. Just makes them more lethal. ( Especially if they're trapped because of an object. Or a person. His eyes narrow. He points the broken stick in Constantine's direction. ) Did you just point a flashlight out the window?
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Depends on the spirit. Fact of the matter is? No dead people, no angry nature spirits. I haven't crossed off ancient deities or local shaman worship off the list yet. [ He tilts his head back with a half-assed grin. Someone looks like he hasn't slept very well recently. ] Haven't got a flashlight on me. Just my lighter.
[ He glances at the stick. ] I'm going to guess that means you're not happy to see me.
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I don't know you. ( So, no, he's not happy to see you, Constantine. ) Shaman could worship the god. One-two punch of why is it always hoodoo. ( This guy is too nonchalant, too haggard for Dean to see him as a threat right now, so he reaches behind himself and slides the stick into his waistband. ) If a god's involved, it's only a matter of time before they show themselves.
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And now you've met me. [ Oh, is he enjoying this? Yeah. A bit. ] Not sure about the hoodoo, but it's definitely not Voodoo. That leaves a distinctive mark on the place.
[ Then, a shrug. Oh, he figures its some deity of some sort that has gotten their knickers in a bunch. Question is trying to figure out which one. Usually they're not so secretive.
He pulls the cigarette from his mouth to give a long exhale. ]
Been here over two weeks and haven't found a lick of anything that would explain what god is what.
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You're a born witch.
( He knows how it works. Born witches, witches who can be taught, and anyone who comes across a spell and wants to wreak a little havoc. Maybe accidentally curse themselves. )
Two weeks? No wonder you're taking a cat nap down there. Is it just you?
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[ He pushes himself to stand then. A pat goes down the trenchcoat to shake off the dust he's accumulated. ]
About fifteen or so of us that have shown up over the last two weeks. The, ah, first group? We showed up on the beach. Everyone else just filters in at different places.
[ John gestures to the rest of the room, as if he means the whole town. ] Welcome to Mathias Township.
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He takes a few more steps. )
I've had warmer. ( Welcomes. You get it. ) Where on the map is Mathias Township?
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Hopefully with the comfort of a warm bed and a good shag. [ What, that's how he likes welcomes. ] Somewhere Northeast United States is what we gather. Everything looks like it'd be from that area.
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How far out has anyone gotten?
( The steep drop he could see happening, whatever is on the other side, he couldn't. The steep drop would reach water. Rocks. And it wouldn't be that steep. Or maybe it would. He hasn't gone wandering around the forests of the Northeast. )
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Other than that? Town Hall, some shops, including this one.
[ It's nonchalant. Easy answers. ] Supposedly there was a fishing warf around here somewhere, but, haven't found where it went off to.
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( He's none too pleased. Same shit, different day. )
Let me guess, all that fog cuts us off from the outside world.
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[ He can think of a couple other people who'd get off on it... but he's just namely too tired to care about that right now. ]
Ding, ding. Cuts us off from the rest of the town too.
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( He considers that. )
Does the fog shift, move further into town, or back?
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[ Is that personal ire in his tone? Yes, yes it is. He has a thing against what he thinks runs the town. Or, at least, is responsible for the missing townsfolk. ]
I'd say it has a mind of its own, mate. Moves from the trees and into the town whenever it damn well pleases.
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Fog with a mind of its' own.
( Or attached to something. Or, someone. Demon or witch? Or, god, like this guy thought. )
On the big tack board in the town hall, there're phone numbers. Does the signal go in and out?
( He pulls his own phone out again, double checking. )
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Local numbers that go to each of the houses. Most of them have a list of numbers. Seems like everyone in the town was tight nit.
[ He figures they may as well get introductions out of the way if the other man saw the bulletin board. Always good to put a face to the name and number, yeah? ]
John Constantine.
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( Drawing his lips together, it's clear nothing Constantine tells him thrills Dean. )
Descriptive business card. ( To go by it, or the bulletin board. ) Chris Campbell. ( He can't have them thinking some guy named Chris tacked something onto the board and disappeared. )
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[ The conman smells a bit of a lie, but, no point in pressing it. They'll all have to come to some cohesive conclusion at some point. He pulls his hand back and slides it into his pocket. ]
Given your statements, my business card suits your line of work as well. Always good to have someone else here who knows a thing or two about the occult.
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I hunt. I don't work any mojo. That's my brother's territory. He learned from a witch. You're self taught?
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[ Hunt--now that's interesting. Reminds him of something Claire had said. Though, he'll keep that card close to his chest right now. John will put himself in the fire if he's protecting someone. Which, he wonders when he started doing that for the people already here. ]
Had a lovely bird teach me the basics... been on my own since then. More or less. [ He gestures to Dean. ] You talk like you know the occult even if you just, ah... hunt.
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( If not any other hunter. )
My brother learned from a witch, too. The basics and then some. Magic -- was needed. ( Spells. ) I know how witches work. I know what they worship. I've been hexed before. Not a fan.
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[ His tone is...reserved. Distant. Angry. Upset.
He steps around Dean then, moving a few steps towards one of the bookshelves. At least nothing here is burned out like in the library. ]
See, that's where you're getting it all messed up in your head, Chris. Wasn't a witch that taught me. You got a thing called mages in your reality?
[ Not that Annie was much of a mage. She had magic, but, well, it's easier to call themselves mages than go into the details. Details being that they were kids who were screwing around. Oh, both of them had the bit of magic to their touch. Annie just called it quits after a certain point.
He went right into Hell. ]
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He doesn't blink twice at Constantine's question about his reality. Been there, almost got stepped on by dinosaur. Also, lost his mother and surrogate pseudo-son.
He also thought every other reality was snuffed out. )
Got a lot of things, John. Mostly witches, and amateur witches. Accidental witches. Things that use magic that aren't witches. I know what a mage is. What's the difference in yours?
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Generally witches are a certain form of magic. Not all of the ones who practice it are witches or warlocks. Oh, sure. It's easier to call us that--bit of a technicality, really. But, I don't rely on just magic to get me through the day.
[ He stops, turning to Dean with a grin. ] You've got your reasons, I'm sure, mate. But, don't try to con a conman, yeah?
[ That's where he'll leave that. No point in trying to dig at the man and get the answers. Trust and all that jazz. ]
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