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The Village Mod ([personal profile] villagemod) wrote in [community profile] villagememes2020-11-19 10:10 pm
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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 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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croftiness: (pic#14666241)

lara croft — tomb raider trilogy

[personal profile] croftiness 2021-02-12 08:50 am (UTC)(link)
INTO THE ENDLESS.
( lara has been courting death for so long that she barely recognizes it in the midst of snowfall, in the brisk wind that forces her to wrap her arms around her middle and cradle herself in the cold. she remembers being deep in the jungle prior to this, humid temperatures and mud, not the frigidity of winter, and yet, here she stands shaking at the knees in oddly appropriate boots. her weapons and climbing gear are amiss, leaving her feeling more stripped than the fact that she’s trying to warm up from a leather jacket over a gray hoody combo. she reminds herself to put one foot in front of the other, driven by the fact that she must go on.

( if she doesn’t, who will? )

the wind burns and the fog makes her narrow her eyes, searching for anything with her hands and feet that clues her into what lies ahead. peril is simply a five-letter word for life, and what is living without the struggle to keep it? it’s not until she’s reached the end of her path that her breath lodges in her throat in a hiss. she slips, earth crumbling beneath her, and takes an abrupt seat at a clifftop, feet and palms scrambling for purchase in snow and rocks. she tries, for once in her life, not to go tumbling into the unknown darkness.
)

Shit! ( but maybe she’s too late, and maybe, she inadvertently takes an innocent bystander down with her. or perhaps, as the luck of the draw would have it, she’s yanked back at the last second. hard to say with something as tricky as fate. either she wakes up with some broken ribs and a head injury or she’ll have to grovel. honestly, the tumble’s preferable. )

BODIES WITHOUT SOULS.
( the goosebumps on her arms that force the fine hairs to stand on end are the only indicator that speaks to the sight she’s entranced by — shadowy figures that aren’t there when she looks at them straight on from inside the room. she takes no interest in the safe, despite the lure of a cache full of means to arm herself. she chases illusions aggressively, stepping in and outside of the building. she wishes she had the luxury of presuming it’s nothing, a figment of the imagination and nothing more preposterous than that. she doesn’t.

if anything, she spends time outside in the weather, pondering whether the blurry images were real or simply sleep deprivation, waiting for someone else to come along and confirm insanity. when she does hear footfalls, she pushes away from an abandoned dropbox for mail and cocks her head.
)

Wait. What do you see in the windows?

THE END APPROACHES.
( perhaps it’s the lifelong spiral into fury and vengeance, of having people ripped violently away from her ( or her current injuries from her arrival ), but by the time she arrives at town hall, she isn’t equipped with the patience of investigating every scrap of paper. she certainly doesn’t have the capacity for warnings, or threats, as the case may or may not be. she knows well enough to recognize blood, although it isn’t fresh. her lip curls and she clutches her side more defensively, staggering over to the stack of paper on one of the chairs with no sense of self-preservation.

she snatches up a ballpoint pen and a piece of paper and then holds it against the bulletin board while she scrawls: let him come and affixes her name to the end like her own promise. she presses it to the push board with a rusty tack, no less impassioned than when she began.

when someone else enters, intent on passing her, she advises them:
) I wouldn’t.
notanemptymotto: <user site="livejournal.com" user="fontcroire">. (explain ☤ your sweet moonbeam.)

the end approaches. (A LARA :O)

[personal profile] notanemptymotto 2021-02-18 01:13 am (UTC)(link)
Wouldn't what?

[ helen enters town hall, long brown curls around her shoulders as she pulls the hood of her jacket down from around her head. she smiles at the younger woman. ah, another english woman. brilliant.

then she gestures to the board. ]


Daring, I see. Sometimes it's best not to tempt fate.
croftiness: (pic#14666258)

we exist

[personal profile] croftiness 2021-02-18 03:14 am (UTC)(link)
Bother. ( wariness reads as standoffishness very easily. she has no reason not to trust this stranger that's come in out of the cold, except that she rarely extends trust to anyone. lara doesn't have a smile in return, not with how uncertain she feels. there's something to be said for not running out the door and sticking around. she turns to face her rather than striding away, lingering for the conversation. )

You're probably right. ( yelling come on in the face of danger has almost always ended in near-death experience, it's by the grace of .... something, that she's still standing. ) But I don't appreciate threats or ominous warnings. Better to know what you're up against.

What would you do? Do you have a message up here?
notanemptymotto: <user site="insanejournal.com" user="secret-x-garden">. (body ☤ on the front lobe.)

i love classic and reboot lara, welcome, welcome!

[personal profile] notanemptymotto 2021-02-18 03:48 am (UTC)(link)
[ ah, well. there is a nod to that. something she can completely understand. most of what the mystery of this town is certainly seems like something not to bother with. that, or, helen just has far different priorities. ]

Unfortunately, it seems that we're very much unaware of what we are up against. Most of the town is shrouded in confusion or mystery at this rate.

[ she nods to the message that lists the doctor's address. ] My first priority is making sure everyone here is as medically stable as possible. I'm a doctor by trade. Whoever left an ominous message, well, that I can tackle once we have more information.