villagememes | test drive

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 words

he 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.

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I was curious," she said lightly, and more diplomatically than most. "I was trying to identify what the figures were."

Pause. "And not often, but it's happened before."

"But they caught your attention," he pointed out. "It sound like you have... interesting stories. Have you found a place to stay yet?" he asked. "Do you need supplies?"

She shrugged gently. Yes, they had caught her attention: they were the only thing she could not readily explain in some form.

"I've only just arrived. So no," Sinthia clarified. "Is there a given place to stay?" If not, she's lived out of bombed-out ruins in cold climates before, but it's rather unpleasant. Given the option heat would be nice.

"There's a boarding house," Malcolm told her, pointing. "Or you can take any house that isn't occupied. The ones that are in good condition have electricity."

"Why are they unoccupied?" she asked, head tilting as she studied the buildings he pointed out. "And where are the occupants?"

"Nobody knows," Malcolm said ominously. "Pretty spooky, right? That's just one of the mysteries you get to solve for winning whatever lottery brought you here." He shrugged a shoulder. "I'm not entirely convinced there were occupants," he added. "I think it might all be... set dressing."

She hummed to herself at that.

"There must have been at once time. Otherwise there would be no built structures," she murmured softly. "There was a map drawn in the town hall building, which indicates there must havebeen something living here with hugher orders of thought processes."

"Or it was all contrived to make us chase our tails looking for this people while whoever built it watches and... I don't know. I don't know why they brought us here. But someone did. And if they can bring people here from different times and - apparently - dimensions, they can build some houses and shops," he pointed out.

"That assumes the people who built this are the same as the ones who brought us here. If indeed that was the doing of any person to begin with." She tries not to assume more than the basic functions necessary.

"It may not have been. We may simply be on our own."

"We didn't get here on our own," Malcolm pointed out. "Bringing us here seems like a lot of trouble for someone to go through if they didn't have plans for it."

"Just because wedidn't get here on our own does not mandate that there was another person responsible," Sinthia said lightly.

"Thank you, though, for telling me about the houses."

He didn't see the point of bringing them there for no reason, but he didn't argue it.

"We're all in this together," he told her. "If you need anything, just reach out. I live at 1306 Phillips Drive."

"Phillips Drive," she repeated back, turning to scan the street signs nearest them. "Which direction is 1306?"

She wasn't against wandering, certainly, but why bother when he presumably knew where he lived.

He pointed and started in that direction.

"There are still empty houses on that street," he told her. "Just stay out of 1307. That's where the cowboys have their distillery and they don't want anyone to blow up."

Both brows went up at that.

"What...exactly...are they distilling?" Concerns over explosions weren't necessarily common with simple alcohol.

“Moonshine whiskey,” Malcolm told her. “In a homemade still constructed from salvage. They’re not willing to risk a life on its structural integrity.”

She lifts her brows. "I'm not sure...alcohol distilling is supposed to be extraordinarily explosion-prone," Sinthia says slowly, following along with his footsteps, her own careful and measured but even, sure. She's unafraid, even here in a completely unknown place.

It can't be much worse than where she came from.

"Is there no other place to get whiskey?"

test drive — winter

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