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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 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.
Athena Carrigan || OC || I apologize for her in advance || CW FOR LOTS OF SWEARS
Athena wakes up in the middle of the forest and bolts to her feet, looking around in a panic. There are no fucking forests between her house and Jeff's. There's no forests in their whole town and honestly, fuck forests anyway.
She chews on a bit of loose skin on her lower lip, hugging herself and trying to ignore the fear knotting in her gut. She's not dressed for this weather--and what the hell is that about, anyway? There's so much snow, and while she could accept a late-spring dusting, there's no way she would have slept through this much piling up.
"Okay, Thee. Let's figure this out," she says, and then starts humming She Keeps Me Warm, because apparently she feels like being ironic at the moment. Athena clears her throat and rubs her hoodie-clad arms.
"Right. Two ways to go here. Path number left, or path number right." She bites her lip, looks both ways--and picks the path that eventually leads to the gaping hole in the ground. She's been singing the entire way there, rotating through 80s rock ballads, goth, New Wave, and modern rock heavily laced with swear words.
When she reaches the chasm, she stops dead and stops singing as well, right in the middle the chorus of Sizzy Rocket's Bestie. "I WANNA FUCK, FUCK, FUCK MY BEST FRIEND--what the shit."
She stares down into the seemingly bottomless fissure, dumbfounded. There's definitely nothing like this in Virginia. At least not as far as she knows.
"That's one big-ass hole," she whispers, pauses, and gives a slightly hysterical giggle.
This one's pretty simple. She's throwing rocks at the bookstore window, trying to break it. Yeah, she went inside. Yeah, she got spooked. She hefts one particularly large stone as the soft tapping emanates from the window.
"Knock knock, futhermuckers," she yells, and hefts the rock hard enough to actually crack the glass.
Athena glares at the bulletin board. She's skimmed over what's there (and very much appreciates the puns), but it makes about fuckall sense and she is not keen on the idea of just hanging out here, waiting to go home. She tacks up a sheet of white paper, writing large enough to cover the top half of it. It says:
Respectfully,
What the actual fuck.
- Athena, the jane-come-lately
(room for explanations left below, please and thank you.)
She stands back a moment, before her glare turns to the map in the middle of the bulletin board. There's no denying it creeps her out. This whole town creeps her out. She won't acknowledge the fact that it does a lot more than that. It's viscerally disturbing to walk the snowy streets and listen to the total silence, to go into empty houses full of dust and other people's belongings. She shivers, then scowls, annoyed with her own fear.
On impulse and with ignored anger, she writers That's what she said in big letters just under the stupid red warning.
Bodies Without Souls
"You want some pointers on how to do it even better? Used to teach this kinda shit all the time." Maybe he should scold her for vandalizing shit, but... he doesn't actually give a fuck about any of that.
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"That depends. Do those pointers involve you feeling me up to make sure my arm's angled right?"
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"No, I promise I'll keep my hands to myself. You're way too fucking young for me, I can promise you that."
He motions towards the window. "I was a coach once upon a time, that's all. And I can damn sure respect the urge to want to tear this place to the ground."
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Athena levels a glare at the cracked window. It hasn't done anything to deter the... things moving inside. She hugs herself, glad that she at least helped herself to a coat from one of the empty houses.
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He idly crosses his arms and tilts his head, inspecting the window. "Relax your shoulders. Helps if you're aiming at something... like that crack right there. The deep one."
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The End Approaches
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This guy, however, was much less intimidating than Negan. She glared, slowly lowering the pen and taking a few steps to the left to get out of his reach, just the same.
"That's like saying 'name every significant world event that happened in 1852. Before you ask I have no idea what the hell happened in 1852." She glanced back at the board. "Like... everything. How did we get here, for starters?"
Athena glares back at Malcolm again. "Unless you weren't got, in which case I might actually stab you with this pen."
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She smiled a bit when she said it, though.
“‘kay, specifics... How the fuck long have people been here?” Athena lifted her chin as she asked, determined not to show how much the question scared her.
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Into the endless
He doubted Mathis had that kind of taste.
She comes out further down than him and he waits for a long second, gauging her and her general state of mind before lifting his chin and ambling over.
"It does end, just gotta walk a bit." He wasn't going to say anything about friend fucking. "You alright?" Most people he'd seen walk outta there were far from alright but it was a good starter question.
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It’s a yelp of pure relief, and she starts to book it toward him, expression equal parts scared and relieved. She’s almost to him when the differences start to add up.
It’s not just the hat, or the boots, or that his voice sounded a little weird. Once again, it’s the face. Somehow sharper, with a harder edge. She skids to a halt, stumbling a little in the snow.
Out of arm’s reach, which is good. She backs up a step, her heart in her throat. All her instincts are screeching that this is some supernatural bullshit she wants no part of, but if she runs, how far would she get? If she’s imagining all this, there’s no way she’s going to outrun her own mind. Athena backs up another step, her voice soft, with a little undercurrent of iron. “...Who the fuck are you?”
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"Hey whoa. I dunno who Jeff is but. You're alright. Raylan Givens," he introduced, fingers coming back to prop on his chest briefly. "Just a man out here lookin' at a hole. Nothin' over on that side for ya, but there's a whole town on this one. Unless campin' ins your thing?"
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She still has that same wariness in her voice, but she hasn’t bolted. That’s something. “Raylan Givens? Did you make that up?”
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"If I had, I woulda chosen somethin' cooler, I promise you," he assured dryly. "But it's served me plenty well. Better than 'Jeff'. Sounds like a car salesman or worse, a realtor." Real-tor. A word that he'd gone back and forth on for his whole life, who cared which way was the right one.
"You gonna stay over there or what?"
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SO MANY THINGS HE DOES NOT UNDERSTAND HERE lol
poor, poor Raylan
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Wanna wrap that there or do you want moar hat?
the end approaches
He can always embrace that.
Not being inclined towards stealth, his approach is pretty easy to hear coming. ]
Oh, well that's just rude. [ Wow. Honestly. ] I step out to touch up my boy for a while and you got him all set up for a scandal now. This is his squeaky-clean reputation on the line, girl, have some respect.
[ He fishes a now-crumpled notecard out of his pocket and holds it up for reference. The touch-ups were some crayon flowers on the bottom that there's no time to edit in in MSPaint due to regrettable schedule constraints. This is what happens when a true artist doesn't know when to step back and leave a masterpiece as-is, obviously. A valuable lesson. ]
For shame. What did Mister Sun ever do to you?
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I mean, the bastard’s not doing his job with the snow and cosmic HR isn’t taking my calls. Something about agnostics needing to make up their fucking minds about who they’re trying to reach on the switchboard.
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[ He mimes a teeny explosion with one hand and makes a drawn-out little ssssss. RIP, hypothetical suggestion box entries for the sun. Shame to see you melt that way. ]
I could cut you in if I make a flamethrower? Looking at what we got around town, that's gonna be like ten times easier than a snowblower, so. Adapt, improvise, overcome.
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Okay, if you could actually make a flamethrower, that would be awesome. And I definitely claim first dibs on using it after you're done.
[ She pauses, because she's not actually sure at this point. ]
Can you make a flamethrower?
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[ He extends a hand to offer a fistbump. The road to friendship is paved with illegal fire-based weaponry. Why should today's youths not have the luxury of information at their hands? ]
I probably can't pull together some big production you'd see Rambo hauling around, but you can get most of what you're looking for with, like. Hairspray and an L bracket and a candle. Birthday candle's always good, very festive. I'm a big birthday supporter.
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Bodies Without Souls - May be the shortest thread in history??
Looking for a couple of books.
Being a functioning adult he absolutely had not hid when she first came in.
He had ... simply wanted to check out the books in the far back corner kinda behind a couple of displays that happened to provide cover.
Having heard her leave and thinking the coast was clear, Will had his books and was taking his own leave. At about the time the rock went hurtling towards the window and the person bellowed out such a delightful choice of words.
"Charming," Hannibal remarked in a tone that suggested the Ripper was debating if the youngster were of interest or just rude. "She looks younger than Abigail. Shouldn't you go and inquire after her well being?"
"No." Will responded to thin air before angling himself in such a way as to walk past her on the widest berth possible.
F in the chat for Will
She pivots, following him without hesitation--but very carefully staying out of his reach. "Do you have a moral objection to knock knock jokes or something?"
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Turning towards her but almost taking a step to encourage distance he stared at her for a minute as if trying to process her words. Actually he was trying to remember the question.
"Your moral opinion on knock knock jokes," Hannibal supplied, sounding amused and now less likely to be considering the girl as 'free range rude'.
"Would not say I give them that much thought," he answered in quiet tones, to both of them, before turning once again to make an escape.
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"I'm Athena. Kind of not from around here. Are you local?"
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