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.
no subject
Quickly raising his hands in what he hopes is a placating gesture, he tries to come up with a satisfactory explanation. ]
Well, you see, that would be a little hard to do, because- [ Well, he's not quite sure how to finish that sentence, but he tugs on the sides of his face a little bit, as if that'll somehow help. He knows it won't, because Loki's brand of shapeshifting wasn't something pulled off like one would remove a mask. ]
I know what you're thinking, but I'm really not a shapeshifting god who just so happens to be wearing the face of your friend.
[ He hopes "friend" is a word that applies, anyway. At least he likes to think that they're more than just two people who happen to work for the same agency. ]
no subject
He's not wrong, about her considering him a friend. Maria's whole conception of the idea of friendship is complicated. But somehow, Phil Coulson managed to make it past the moat of acceptable losses and onto the solid ground of her regard. ]
It would be a pretty stupid move, all things considered. [ The pen doesn't waver an iota. ] The fact that his brother dragged him away muzzled a day and a half ago is a point in your favor, at least as far as Loki is concerned.
[ Of course, that doesn't mean he isn't something else. ]
no subject
And he's not planning on coming closer, because he can see that she's on edge, and he doesn't want to give her any reasons to attack him with that pen. ]
Well, I'm going to take that point, at least, and I know you're not going to believe what I have to tell you, but- I have to tell you. There's no way around it.
[ He sighs and then he looks around. ]
Do you mind if we sit down? You can still keep that pen on me, but this could take awhile.
no subject
You're more than welcome to sit.
[ She'll stay right here with her pen thank you. ]
no subject
[ But he knows better than to press the issue, so he just pulls over a chair and takes a seat. ]
How much do you know about Project TAHITI?
[ It's obviously classified, and probably above her authorization level, but it's just the opener to this conversation. ]
no subject
[ She does lower the pen--a fraction--once he's sitting down.
When he asks about Project TAHITI, she shakes her head. Zero recognition? Zero recognition. Not unusual, in her line of work. ]
How much should I know?
no subject
[ Ordinarily, he wouldn't dare break protocol like this, but there's no SHIELD here and no Fury, so he's just making the executive decision to clue her in. ]
Technically? Nothing. But with both of us here, you deserve to know. And you already know that I'm supposed to be dead, but thanks to Fury and Project TAHITI, I'm not.
[ If she's listening for it, she might note the smallest amount of bitterness in his words. It's a sore spot for him, really. ]
The project was meant to be used to bring back a fallen Avenger, but I recommended that it be terminated because the consequences were too great.
[ He sighs. ]
But then New York happened, and Fury had other ideas.
no subject
It makes sense, that Fury would have something like that in his back pocket. Whatever her personal feelings regarding the Avengers, she's seen first-hand not only what they're capable of but what they mean to people on a symbolic level. More than SHIELD ever could, ever will, except for the people within its ranks.
It makes sense, but it doesn't make it easier to believe.
She tilts her head toward the bulletin board, indicating the notes. ] In Memoriam--someone here hasn't gotten the good news.
no subject
Oh, well, that's a different story altogether.
[ He thinks about asking her again if she wants to sit down yet, but he decides not to. ]
A handful of us died not that long ago: at different times and places, but in the same way.
[ Or at least, that's his understanding of the matter. ]
no subject
As it is, she needs a moment. She turns away from Coulson at last, walking a few steps down the hall. That, turning her back on him, more than anything, is the signal that she believes him. A signal to herself as much as to Coulson.
She believes this. Phil is alive. Phil is alive, sitting here in the middle of this weirdo place, spinning her an impossible story about resurrection. Multiple resurrections, if she's reading his tone correctly.
But hey, that's what SHIELD does, isn't it? The impossible. Every day.
Maria sets the pen down, lifting one hand to her press her fingertips against her lips. She's self-aware enough to know she's going to need to take some time to herself as soon as possible for sleep and tears. She's been running on fumes for a good forty-eight hours at this point.
Phil Coulson is down, Fury says in her head. She'd compartmentalized because she had to. Because casualties happen and ops don't end because of them. There had been a lot more casualties than Coulson that day.
She clears her throat, still facing away. ]
So. How pissed were you that Fury ruined your trading cards.
ugh DW didn't give me a notif for this
He watches as she turns away from him, and while anyone else might take that as being shut out, he knows better. She needs time to process, and he's more than willing to give it to her.
When he notices her put down the pen, he smiles; it's just a small smile but a smile nonetheless. Truthfully, he's still a little bit concerned for her, but they'll get to that in time.
When she mentions the trading cards, he raises his eyebrows. ]
Well, I can't argue with the results, but part of me wishes he hadn't used those cards to make things happen. They were vintage, you know.
[ And collecting them all took no small amount of time. ]
I did give thought to politely asking him to replace them, but-
[ He sighs. ] We all had bigger priorities to deal with. But between you and me, I still wish I'd gotten them signed.
no subject
That's enough of that.
Maria turns back around, hands on her hips. ]
What's the situation here? Whoever grabbed me did it without my remembering a thing, so I'm assuming we're either dealing with unregistered gifted or someone with resources they shouldn't have. How long have they had you?
no subject
It was the same for me. If it's a gifted, then they're very gifted, because there's quite a few of us here now. [ He doesn't have an exact number, but it's definitely more than eight. ]
A few weeks, as far as I can tell. Clocks don't work as they should, and a calendar wouldn't do us much good anyway.
[ Has he resorted to scratching lines on the wall in his room? You bet. ]
no subject
Her eyebrows knit when Coulson says a few weeks. ]
It's been two days since New York. So it's more than clocks not working the way they should.
no subject
New York was- Well, not a long time ago, but it's been awhile for me.
[ Two years, to be exact. ]
But if it's only been two days for you, I'm sorry you got thrown into this.
[ She deserves a break, and breaks aren't all that likely in this town. ]
no subject
[ ...Okay, maybe not the best choice of words, given. Everything. Somehow she has to bite her lip to keep from smiling at her own accidental joke.
Yeah, she needs a nap. ]
How many civilians? It can't be all SHIELD personnel.
no subject
[ He doesn't have firsthand knowledge of that, but he's just basing that assessment on the way most of them talk and carry themselves. ]
There's a magic user here, and someone who can teleport himself short distances. There's a dentist and a girl from a pretty messed up world, as far as I can tell.
And- Someone from my team is here, and she can cause vibrations in the ground and other objects, as well as larger-scale earthquakes, but with a pretty significant drawback.
[ And it's one he's having a hard time coming to grips with. ]