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
He doesn't expect the guy to strike up a conversation so when he does, Bucky looks only momentarily taken off-guard. His gaze moves back to the bulletin board and settles on the one in red.
"You mean the one written in blood or the math questions and symbols that are random enough to mean something or nothing?" Bucky answers easy enough with another question before pulling out his flesh hand and vaguely circling the rest. "This your main message center? I'm guessing no cell towers in the area."
no subject
"Those are the ones." His amble brought him to a stop an arms length away, with a glance over the bulletin board.
"Responsible communicators use it for that, yeah. I tend to just find the people I need and tellin' them what I need to to their face but some of our number are... enamoured with the whole actual physical pen and paper thing. No cell towers, no Radio towers either, that I can tell. Just.. Northeastern forest and bullshit."
no subject
The comment about those preferring pen and paper gets a guilty little smile. Then again, one would be hard-pressed to find anyone from the 40's that chose otherwise.
"I'm okay with that," he replies, nodding before adding, "What about a salvage yard?"
He's not sure he'll ever need it and he hopes to God he doesn't because Wakandan technology is pretty one of a kind from what Shuri has shown him. But it's good to know regardless.
no subject
"A salvage yard?" His eyebrows lifted in surprise before he blinked a couple of times. "That's a new one. No, no salvage yard, no jail, though we do have a record shop and a clinic." His lips curled down, in a thoughtful facial shrug. "When we find the fishin' ports, you might find somethin' there, if it's anything like the boatyards I've seen."
No, he didn't have the slightest idea what someone would want with a salvage yard except for tinkering. Was he an inventor or something?
"Raylan Givens," he introduced, with a nod of his head.
no subject
Bucky throws a shoulder up in a half shrug. There was no sense in worrying about it. As long as there wasn't another war he was sure the arm would hold up. And if there was a maintenance room somewhere in the mix, there was a good chance he might find some hex keys to ensure full function.
"Bucky Barnes," he pulls both hands out of his pocket but offers his right. "I appreciate the information. I'm mostly looking for tools, maybe hex keys, gear oil, that kind of thing."
no subject
"It for that hand?" The sweater hid it all so he could only guess so far, but he didn't give off any sense that he'd have any negative feelings about it. He was sure there was a story. It was very 6 million dollar man, very cool.
"You might be in luck, though I can't say I've seen any hex keys around. Your definition of 'tools' might be a bit more.. complex than what we've got but hammers and some small wrenches can be found in some of the garages. Feel free to rummage in any unoccupied house, by the way; if no one is posted up there, claimed it, it's just going to waste otherwise."