test drive — winter

[villagemod]

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: ♫ )

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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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Comments

[abrightboy]

“Vulnerable is the opposite of bloodless.”

He canted his head a little. “I’m not discounting demons. We had some demon hunters here and most of them disappeared after that... incident. I just don’t know what they were. Nobody who saw them can describe them. Like they were... made of fog or smoke or mirrors.”

[citharede]

“Fucking Webster,” she mutters under her breath.

Then there’s a long, long pause, while she gives him another dumbfounded stare.

“Wait, what?”

Demon hunters?

[abrightboy]

He met her gaze, just looking at her.

“Which part?”

[citharede]

“That’s not—- Jeff never—- Demon hunters? Those exist?”

A pause.

“Also fuck you because the opposite of bloodless is bloody. The opposite of vulnerable is invulnerable.”

[abrightboy]

“And the vulnerable are always the first to be bloodied,” he pointed out. “A man named Winchester, his brother and an angel. If you meet a woman named Claire, she knows more about it than I do. She worked with them where they’re from.”

[citharede]

Her expression twists, lips pursed, one dimple showing in what could, under a certain light, with a certain squint, be considered a smile.

"Do you know what the opposite of 'pedant' is because you might want to study on that one."

The amusement fades, though, and she fidgets slightly, running a hand through her hair. "They're gone though?"

She's just going to set aside the whole... angel thing. For now.

[abrightboy]

“They’re all gone except Claire. She lives at 1301 Philips if she kept the house they shared.” A beat. “The opposite of pedantic is lazy, right?”

[citharede]

"Oh good," she says quietly, exhaling. Then she winces. "I mean, it's not... good that they're-- never mind."

She tilts her head back and forth, considering his answer. "I'd lean more toward the doctrinaire association since I was going for the low-key insult thing, but there's an argument to be made for lazy."

[abrightboy]

“I picked up on the insult but saw no reason to entertain it with more than light sarcasm,” he returned. “Why is it good that they’re gone? Are you a demon?”

[citharede]

"What! No!" She's affronted enough by the question that it's clear her answer is the truth. Then she immediately looks guilty. Athena scrubs her hands through her hair, leaving it sticking up at odd angles and grumbling under her breath. "I just... how do they get them out? Or do they just..."

A cutting gesture across her throat, and then she rubs the spot, like the motion somehow actually hurt.

[abrightboy]

“We don’t know. We hope they go home, but... we don’t know,” he said, his gaze analyzing.

[citharede]

"No, I mean, like... How do they get the demons out?" She gestures vaguely at the air. "Or do they just kind of go 'welp, that sucks' and kill whoever's got the ride-along?"

[abrightboy]

“I never got that deep into it with them,” he told her honestly. “I know they didn’t kill anything here.”

[citharede]

“That’s good I guess,” she says softly. She finger-combs her hair flat again. “Oh—-fuckin forgot the—-I’m Athena. My parents were dipshits and thought I’d be smart, but it’s not like they gave me much to work with.”

She studies him for a second. “You’re super not a cop, but you’re something like one, yeah?”

[abrightboy]

“Athena is the goddess of wisdom. You don’t necessarily need to be smart to have wisdom,” he remarked gently. “My name is Malcolm Bright. I’m... a forensic psychologist. Behavioural analysis. I work as a consulting profiler for the NYPD at home. Currently.”

[citharede]

“Smart helps though,” she grins, shrugging, the last of her tension fading.

She gives him a shrewd look. “Forensic psychologist, so you’ve got like, degrees and shit. Working for the NYPD, which means you make shit. Which means you’re totally a trust fund brat, aren’t you.”

She throws up her hands in something vaguely like a shrug. “What do you do for the cops anyway? You’re too educated for them to turn you loose on pickpockets.”

[abrightboy]

“I used to work for the FBI,” he told her, “but we had some creative differences that precipitated my departure.”

He wasn’t going to cop to the trust fund bit when he was standing there in ill fitting clothes and beat up shoes.

“I do basically the same thing for the NYPD that I did there, though. I solve weird and sometimes serial murders.”

[citharede]

She’s seen rich people in weirder outfits. Or at least formerly rich people.

When he says what he does, though, she lights up. “You what? My aunt does that with the DGA, but she never lets me see the files. What’s the grossest one you’ve ever had?”

[abrightboy]

Again he cocked his head a little.

“The one with the most blood or the one least recognizable as human remains?” he asked. A beat. “Or the sickest psychosis, I suppose, because my last collar with the FBI was a serial killer who pickled his victims’ faces and kept them in a tidy row on a shelf in his abattoir,” he relayed. “But the last time I caught a serial killer, he was crushing vulnerable and indigent people to death in a car crusher for their sins.”

[citharede]

“Pickled faces, holy shit.”

The last part quiets her. “You caught him, though?”

[abrightboy]

“Well. First he caught me. But people tend to underestimate you after they’ve shackled you in a basement and stabbed you. He left his tools in the room when he went out to kill my family. I managed to reach a hammer to get out of the shackles and then I knocked him out with a crowbar. He’s in prison now, charged with 16 counts of murder and 3 counts of attempted murder.”

[citharede]

She stares, eyes huge. “Holy fuck. You’re a baby badass.”

Like she can talk about being short, but still.

[abrightboy]

“I’m sure it’s not as good as it sounds; the stab wound missed my major organs,” he admitted. “What do you do at home? School?”

[citharede]

“Oh well, only a flesh wound.”

She gestures airily, seeming to dismiss the issue of internal bleeding. Then she shrugs. “I mean, yeah. I moved in with my aunt a year ago but I missed a year and a half of high school after my parents booted me so I’m still behind.”

[abrightboy]

"You seem pretty well-studied. Why don't you just take an equivalency test?" he asked curiously.