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.
b.
After so many conversations with people who are super powered or keep telling him about how they casually chat up ghosts in their free time or how they chased the Baba Yaga with a shotgun once when they were five years old or whatever, some good old frightened indignation? Immediately warms him to the stranger.]
You know, that's been up there quite a while now? I'm never sure if that makes it better or worse.
[Like... maybe "he" has been here already and they missed him? Wouldn't that be great?
Carter steps up to the bulletin board and digs out a kit from his field gear that he keeps on him these days.]
Help yourself. You're not hurt, are you?
[He'll just casually seize him up for any visible injuries while he holds out the kit and its contents.]
no subject
He loves Parker and Eliot more than anything. Happy to spend his time with them.
They do not respond to threats like normal humans. ]
Like most things in life, probably better right up until a dude busts in here with a cleaver. [ Educated guess. (Not actually educated.)
Hardison picks through the kit to pull out one or two swabs. ] And nah. I'm just thinkin' we can shoot our shot at a little bit of restoration here. I dabble. Water and a Q-tip, that's a go-to. But y'know, the concern is appreciated. I appreciate that. Bring it in, man, that's what I call solidarity.
[ There's always time for a detour to offer a fistbump. ]
your hardison is lovely btw!! c:
It's no problem. I'm a doctor, if you need anything just-- There, that's me. John Carter.
[He points at his note that he put up.]
You know, speaking of which, we should probably get you warmed up. You look like you've been out there for a while. How about you get started on your little project and I'll check if they got some coffee around here?
[He's moving away and over to the offices but! Idea! Turning on his heels Carter looks back, beckoning at the ominous writing from hell or at least one of its outer circles.]
Any chance you can make that read he isn't coming?
tysm!! :)
[ Hardison lives at the cross-section of relieved and impressed. Does it suck that anyone at all is stuck here? Yes. Does it hurt that one of them is an actual doctor? No. He has a feeling that that'll be super relevant eventually.
Gift horses. Not to be looked in the mouth or taken for granted. Especially very friendly ones who offer to look for coffee. ]
Now, I don't even know if this blood's fresh enough to sponge out, let alone calligraphize a convincing edit on there. I like your style, though, so I am gonna juuuuuust. [ He snags an empty notecard and a pen, scribbles something onto it, and ever-so-carefully pins it to the right of the ominous message portion of the map. ]
There! Mister Sun is scheduled. And hopefully his publicist gets fired.
no subject
Nice one. He's got some style.
[He hands Hardison a coffee, glancing down at his surrogate blanket tunic.]
You know, there's a clothing store in town. Their selection is awful [there's a pointed look down at the flannel disaster he's wearing, he'd just like to subtly point out that this is not a choice] but it'll keep you warm.
no subject
Bless this flannel mess, though. He didn't even really think about it. Eliot didn't mention it. But it's right up Eliot's fashion alley, of course Eliot wouldn't mention it. Eliot is thinking about things like "survival". As well they all should.
Hardison is not above mourning his sweet-ass Portland wardrobe at the same time. Life can't be all the stress, all the time. People gotta set it down for a minute sometimes. Different type of survival. ]
I... I hear the 90s are coming back in a big way, man. It's that 20-year trend cycle? [ That wasn't supposed to be a question. ] We're just, we're just. Back to grunge ahead of schedule. Retro visionaries.