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.
endless
[ The thick snow falling between them is maybe enough to explain how he didn't recognize her from a distance. But Parker had known Hardison's voice from the moment he called out to her, and though she'd never say it, her heart had nearly broken in relief.
She just stands there for a long moment, looking at him, and then moves forward, wrapping her arms around him, tucking her head in against his chest. The hug is intense, but short, Parker pulling away a moment later, not quite meeting his eyes. Time to do your job and help her make things not-awkward, Hardison. ]
no subject
There are emotional words to describe the warmth and relief and slightly-less-freaked-out weight that comes with Parker's presence actually registering. But perhaps no terminology better than: !!!
It's worth stumbling around some mysterious winter path in parts unknown if there's a Parker at the end of it. ]
Can't argue with that.
[ Hardison, almost equal parts hopelessly fond and concerned, leans into that hug with his usual level of enthusiasm for hugging, while it lasts. Doesn't try to reel her back in or use her as a personal space heater, because her boundaries are a lot less squishy than, say, an Eliot's boundaries might be. ]
You okay, mama? I mean, I know we're out here freezing our whole asses off in the wilderness. Probably got kidnapped, can't get a signal, the whole B-movie bit. And there's all that fog that doesn't wanna get the picture and like--
[ He makes a gesture that's sort of vaguely interlocking his fingers. A finger convergence. ]
Obey the laws of physics. [ Why does it just stop dead instead of swooshing over the paths? He needs a damn meteorologist consultation. ] But apart from alla that, are you okay?
[ The who-what-where-when-why-how of it can wait until after that question. There are priorities to consider. ]
no subject
Just having Hardison here, hearing him ramble on about whatever he's rambling on about, is making her feel a whole lot better already. He's right, this place is creepy. Creepy and wrong. She'd figured that much out for herself, and not just because she'd been here without him - that much is wrong enough on its own.
But the answer to his question is simple. ]
Yes.
[ She shrugs, a small gesture that somehow says it all. I'm fine.
You're here.
But as much as his being here fixes, it doesn't fix everything. Her gaze strays back to the ravine, dark and fathomless below them. ]
I think we should probably get away from here, [ she says, matter-of-factly. ] It kind of makes me want to jump.
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Parker's no exception. Parker's always gonna be Parker.
Off-putting to hear about someone possibly jumping the spooky ravine, though. Even the most jump-competent, daredevil running leap towards an elevator shaft person on his People list.
Hardison joins her in peering down for a long moment, brow creasing. ]
Kinda makes me want to jump. [ Not a great look for his brain impulses, frankly. ] So that's definitely messed up. You know I don't deal in jumps.
[ He takes a couple of big steps back, for posterity. ]
Scenic walk on solid ground that's just as creepy and at least a little bit less deadly than staring into the void?
no subject
She moves back from the ledge, shrugging as she turns to look at him. ]
Yeah. I guess.
[ Not as exciting as jumping down the ravine, but...probably the wiser choice. For now.
Maybe when it's warmer.
There's something else, though, and she squints up at him past the wind as she remembers it. ]
Are you okay?
no subject
I'm good. Cold. Freaked out, but not completely freaked out. Assuming there's gonna be a phone or a computer or something over in ye olde busted-up village, just, you know, just to keep spirits up. Remembering every damn thing I hate about nature. Still good, though.
[ He shoves his hands into his pockets to try to warm them up. Leans towards her a little, the way that he often does without really thinking about it.
Orbiting satellites isn't the worst comparison out there. In fact, call it as accurate as it gets. ]
If I've got one of you guys, it's always better than it could be.
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Her lips quirk up in a tiny smile at his last comment, but almost immediately she's glancing up at him again, hope and worry warring in her expression. ]
Is anyone else...?
[ Eliot, she means Eliot. ]
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Not yet. I don't know if that's a good sign or a bad sign.
[ Alone, they can all get by. Not his preference, but sure. Paired off whatever ways, they can do pretty damn well. They're better when it's all three of them. Especially out in the cold-ass woods where Eliot was basically born to take the lead.
So maybe a bad sign, mostly. Bad not knowing where he is, if he's okay, bad not having him here for this, or bad thinking about the prospect of Eliot back in Portland with them just... gone. (The prospect of that being the point for whatever reason.) There's no happy camping on the horizon. ]
Hopefully that town does have something we can work with. Hell, I'll take a landline. Maybe we can get a call out.
no subject
She thinks, and then nods. Good that Eliot isn't here to be cold and lost and kidnapped too. Bad that he's not here with them. That the three of them aren't together.
But there's nothing they can do about it either way. So. ]
We can get inside. In the village.
[ That should make him happy. Not that Parker's exactly enjoying the cold either, but. Mostly it should make Hardison happy. ]
no subject
Parker and Hardison, simultaneously: I miss Eliot :(
She truly calls her shot in terms of tangible mood-lifting. A bit subdued by Hardison's normal standard, maybe, but that comes down to the broader circumstances. As he crunches his way back down along the snowy paths going in the opposite direction of Dead Man's Drop or whatever, he perks up.
This is why Parker is the true galaxybrain on this team. Hardison went full scattershot-focus the second he got here, and houses = inside is a thought branch that he didn't get around to landing on under his own power. ]
You know I'm all about the indoors, girl. If people were meant to be out in the elements livin' on tree bark all the time, they would've stopped innovating before they got as far as the first wheel. Every time we eat mac 'n cheese with cut-up hot dogs, we're embracing the triumph of human progress.
no subject
Maybe Eliot will be there, too. Or at least some way to contact him.
[ It's a long shot, she knows, at least the him-being-there part. But it's possible. And if it makes Hardison feel better, even a little bit, there's no way she's not going to at least bring up the possibility. ]
no subject
They've all learned to translate what they can of each other over time. Built their own language on top of that.
Intent is worth its weight in everything for Hardison. Any time that Parker reaches out, it's everything. He gives her hand a little squeeze, a wordless thanks. ]
I'll build us an old-timey telegram relay if I have to. And... and then patch it into wireless signals through some kind of impossible, horrific technofusion, because civilization rightfully moved on from old-fashioned telegram relays a million years ago. We'll be working our own lil communications zombie.
[ They do impossible stuff all the time, it'll be. Annoying but cool for the rep. ]
If he's not around, last thing we need is the man Godzilla-ing his way through downtown Portland looking for us.
no subject
But she winces at the thought of Eliot crashing his way through downtown, looking for a Hardison and Parker that had disappeared off the planet. It's all too easy to imagine, as is the thought of him getting madder and madder when he failed to find either of them. ]
We gotta tell him.
[ Although, contacting Eliot with the reassuring information that both of them had been somehow kidnapped and whisked away to some creepy town in the middle of nowhere, complete with life-threatening blizzard and pit of death? Not exactly a whole lot better. ]
no subject
[ Lock down Eliot, whether he's here or back home. Some people might question such a priorities ranking. They don't know what's up, though.
He needs to come up with something that's harder to shake than a phone or an earpiece. A little more hit a button, borrow some satellites, global GPS, A little less getting punched very hard and losing it all the time. This is some untenable nonsense.
Subdermal chipping would probably be too much of a privacy violation to sell in the room. Hm. ]
Maybe priority one and a half, after we find about 80 blankets and then maybe light 'em on fire while we get all burrito'd up in there. That sounds to me like a reasonable survival measure right about now.