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.
Allison Hargreeves | The Umbrella Academy
[At first, air is hard to come by. She feels like she's drowning when she first comes to. Head heavy, Allison scrambles to her feet. It's been such a long time since she was left voiceless but her hand goes to her throat anyway. There's no bandage, no trace of what had happened to her. She coughs, forcing air into her lungs. It comes in a sharp gasp right as confusion settles in.
There's so many trees. Was downtown Dallas filled with this many?
...no. No, she's somewhere new. Somewhere different. Less concrete, more trees. There's snow here, so much of it. Her limbs are already numbing from the cold. Did her siblings end up nearby? Or is she alone again, in another time and place? Allison stumbles along the forest path to try and find some answers. All she finds is fog. There's not a chance in hell she's getting lost in that alone.
She moves quickly as panic sets in. One foot in front of the other, her voice lost in the fog as she calls out the name of each of her siblings. When she eventually stumbles her way to the end of the path that overlooks a snow covered town, she narrows her eyes and stares ahead with uncertainty. Adjusting to the 1960's in the south had been hard. She had no idea what kind of struggles were ahead of her here.
There's the sound of snow crunching beneath someone's feet up ahead. She doesn't hesitate to press forward and bombard them with her presence.]
Hey! [She's quick on her feet. They're not getting away from her that easily.] I need you to tell me what year it is.
THE END APPROACHES;
[Allison spends entirely too much time observing the bulletin board. She runs a finger along some of the messages as she reads them, but her focus is really divided between two distinct and distressing issues.
The first is the fact that so much here in the town hall is filthy. It's dirty and old, clearly well used. The bulletin board itself and the supplies meant to use it don't match. They're almost pristine in comparison.
The second issue, far more pressing than the first, is the fact that there's very clearly a message written in blood posted to the board. Her arms cross over her chest as she frowns up at the posting.]
Do you think it's a scare tactic or a cry for attention?
[She glances over at whoever may be lurking nearby. This whole thing is messed up, but she's used to messed up. She's able to crack a smile and find a little dry amusement in all of this.]
Because if it's an actual warning? They did a really shitty job specifying who we should be watching out for.
[ooc: If you'd rather switch to prose I'll follow your lead. Allison is coming in with an end of s2 canon point. I don't use plurk often but do respond to private plurks. You can find me there @
The Endless
And it just so happens that thought was even more right than he could have expected.
There’s no mistaking the whip fast snap of that voice. A demand for answers, even before she knows who she’s talking to. He spins on his heel toward the sound of that voice, “Allison?” He breathes out her name, a rush of something tense mixed with relief and he breaks into a sprint toward her. “Holy shit, I can’t believe you’re here.” He wraps his arms around her in a tight hug.
no subject
"So where in the hell are we now? I'm freezing my ass off." She laughs as she pulls out of the hug, like it's some kind of happy nostalgia for them to keep messing up like this.
no subject
"Here," he pulls back and shrugs off his leather coat, wrapping it around her shoulders instead. He's considerably more reasonably dressed for this kind of weather right now in a sweater, jeans, and a pair of boots. "Come on," he's going to get her back to the boarding house and out of this damn snow.
He considers for a moment, how best to explain everything; explaining isn't exactly his strong suit, she'll remember his version of The Scorpion and the Frog, surely. "Five's here," is probably a good place to start at least. "He's been here the longest... a little over two weeks now, I think, maybe closer three. I've been here a little over a week."
As they walk they pass through a mostly-dilapidated town, houses in various states of disrepair some far worse off than others.
"'Here' is Mathias Township, where in the fuck it actually is, I don't know, there's a pretty big New England vibe to it, though. And as far as I know...nobody's been able to figure out the year." Which sounds insane, but... eh. They're used to insane, right?
The End Approaches
He turns his head towards her, flashing her a smile before he turns back towards the bulletin board. He's holding a cane, calloused knuckles white with his fist firmly clasped over the rubber grip, so presumably he doesn't know what he's supposed to be 'looking at'. Or what she is looking at, either.
Reaching up with his free hand, he runs his fingertips over what smells faintly like ink on a note barely more than three or four days old, where pen has been pushed hard enough to carve words into the paper. It's not the note she is referring to, but he pretends he doesn't know that.]
Foreboding words or terrible drawing?