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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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Raylan snorted. "The little people community might take issue with that. We got some rope - If I start takin' bets, we'll be three steps closer to bein' the weirdest Florida ever." Florida and California - the two states most likely to allow and endorse Midget fights.

"Big Greek Mythos fans, your parents? Or just hopin' to manifest that destiny bullshit?" If she was freaking out, and rightly so, no one takes to this kidnappee shit without it, Raylan knew that talking about what she was familiar with would be helpful to some degree.. If his luck for not sticking his foot in his mouth was around today.

She looks briefly abashed, but at the mention of her parents the hangdog look vanishes into a cheerful grin. “Who knows? My mom probably heard it on a soap opera or from a talk show host. Sure as shit didn’t manifest anything for me.”

"Onna those, huh?" The kind of women that lived out of their home and garden, Best Home Living magazine dreams. He supposed nowadays that shit had something to do with social media but that, like much else, he ignored completely.

"How long you been wanderin' around out there in the woods? Long enough to get cold yet?"

Definitely not the kind of woman that lived out of their home and garden. More like the kind of white trash who aspired to be that person. The kind of white trash who made it very clear what would happen if their daughter didn't wear properly feminine clothes and learn how to use makeup by the time she hit middle school.

"Fuck yeah I'm cold. And my shoes are soaked, so I'm fully expecting to lose some toes in the next twenty-four hours if your town doesn't have actual heat." She shrugs. "As far as how long..."

She does some quick math in her head. "About two hours, based on how many songs I got through at an average of three and a half minutes apiece."

"Not long enough for any hypothermia to set in. We get far enough along, I can throw you my jacket until you get into town to find one more appropriate. We're fresh outta leather with spiky shoulders though. Not exactly fashion week here."

Judge him not by his jeans and flannel, some of that came with him.

"We do have electricity and water. Where you comin' from?"

"Fuck fashion week, friend, comfort and-or band t-shirts all the way." She carefully doesn't mention how comforting it is to see him in flannel, actually. That's Jeff's uniform, practically. And if she doesn't look at his face too closely--and if she ignores the hat--she can almost pretend she's walking parallel to him instead of a stranger.

"Virginia. Little suburb near DC, which makes all this snow confusing as fuck." She blinks. "Right, where the hell are we?"

Oh good, so she had actual taste. Points to in her favor.

"Best we can tell, New England. Fishing town called Mathis township, you'll hate it here, don't worry."

She stops walking abruptly. "Slow down, cowboy, I'm not staying. I need a phone that works and maybe somewhere to crash, but my aunt will be on the first flight out to--wait, as best as you can tell?"

"Yeah, cause we're all here for the prime vacation real-estate and the fish fry's everyone's havin'," he drawled as he came to a stop a few feet ahead of her. Half turning to see her properly from where he stood, he continued.

"This ain't gonna be easy to hear," he started, face and tone a little softer than before. "But there's no phones or flights outta this place. No aunt comin' unless she comes the same way you did... Also no addresses that confirm state on any sheet we can find in the place. So.. Best as we can collectively tell."

"That's..." Her cheerful bravado slowly dissolves, leaving a skinny, short, seventeen-year-old who looks like she may or may not be turning the same color as the snow.

"No, that's not--places like that don't exist. I mean ghost towns, sure, that... fucking happens I guess, but. Why the fuck hasn't anyone, I don't know, left? I get that the forest is a foggy Blair Witch remake waiting to happen, but th..."

She takes a deep breath, then another. "You don't know who dragged us here either?"

A pause, then she takes a step back, the wariness fresh on her face. "What the fuck is this, huh? No, this--I'm fucking delusional, is that it? You show up in my head looking like Jeff, I let you hang out because I'm so freaked by this whole.... whatever that I just want the company? Nice try motherfucker. You're about ten times harder than Jeff and I can tell. You're wearing the face crooked."

Raylan waited, letting her process through it in her own time. It was.. a lot. Took him more than two weeks to even being to wrap his head around it. It sucked, seeing that look on young faces but he wasn't going to lie to her, instill false hope that wouldn't hold up water.

"I think it's a what, but-" Before he could get any further, she was accusing him of being Not!Jeff. He.. wasn't Jeff, but he wasn't whatever she was accusing him of. His face didn't change from the unchallengeable patient expression and he nodded a little. Yeah, he was hard. It was a fact, like his height or his hair color.

Digging into his inner jacket pocket, he pulled out a wallet badge and flipped it open to look at his ID picture of a good ten years earlier, before the creep of salt into his pepper, tin star affixed on the other side. After a beat, Raylan chucked it over with an arm that suggested he knew what baseball was, more than enough to clear the 14 foot gap.

"I told you. I'm not Jeff. I'm US Marshal Raylan Givens and I'm just as fucked up and unhappy to be here as you are. Only way out is an ugly way, we haven't found a suitable alternative. It's not a con, not a scam. It's bullshit but inescapable bullshit." And he was sorry she was here for it. Mathis shouldn't be taking kids. First glance he gets of something punchable to blame for it, he'll be swinging a few for Claire and Ellie as it is.

She catches the badge, fumbling it slightly. At least she's far enough from the edge of the gap that dropping it wouldn't be a disaster.

It feels real. It looks real. But so does the snow. And Jeff couldn't tell, near the end, what was real any more. That's part of what chewed him up so badly.

But why would a demon show up in her head as a Marshal with Jeff's face? It's such a bullshit-easy thing to see through. Why would one show up as a Marshal in the first place? It has to know that being law enforcement is the last way to win her over.

Conflicting instincts keep her locked in place, looking from him to the badge and back. She licks her lips, finally growling, "How the fuck do I know you're not a demon?"

"If you're doin' the same thing half the other people did, then I can't. You're holdin' the only thing that says I am who I am-" If she were an adult, he might show how bothered he was by arguing him being real so often to so many faces, but she's not and he wasn't going to go around yelling at kids.

She was scared. She was right to be.

"If I had a knife, I'd cut my palm or somethin' but if you're that deep into it, wouldn't you just question that too?" A beat passed. "C'mon," he said, jerking his head a little as he took back to walking. "No holy water to test, no hallowed ground to walk on. Can't say I'm not glad to not have a church here to haunt us too."

"That shit doesn't actually work, anyway," she says under her breath. She hesitates for a moment longer. Considers turning and booking it back into the woods.

But again, if he really is in her head, what the fuck kind of good is that going to do? And if he's not, then she's going to get herself killed.

Athena chews on a bit of loose skin on her lip, wincing slightly as she bites it hard enough to bleed. "Motherfucker," she mutters. Swallows. Takes another deep breath.

Then she starts walking again. "I hate cops. For the record."

Really, she says it just to have something to say.

He didn't stop, knowing that Athena was making a choice. A hard choice. Trust wasn't easy to give, even trust enough to follow someone down a road. He was glad to hear the crunch of snow behind him and he stops to let her catch up. The faint smirk that curls on his lips is schooled away as she finally does.

"Not a cop. Marshals means I only really care about federal. Course, what's a Marshal without his gun or a jail or a courthouse?" He shook his head. Law and Authority to it wasn't carried around like that, in a singular person's pocket. He couldn't make himself that here. That was the place of the others. If they chose to vote that way.

"I'm just a guy trying to keep my ass in one piece while I'm stuck here." Maybe help a few of the people he'd gotten close to on the way.

She stays quiet for a little bit as they walk.

"Federal's all right I guess," Athena finally says. "My aunt's a fed. She's with the DGA."

Another few steps of silence.

"And even if you don't have a gun or a jail or a courthouse, I think like." She shrugs one shoulder. "That doesn't change what you are, right? Like..."

She scratches the back of her head. "Even if I don't have a piano, even if I didn't have my voice, I'd still love music. I'd still be a bard. Even if my aunt didn't have her badge she'd still do what she does."

"Least she's not FBI." No one liked the FBI.

"You're right," he granted easily with a little bob of his head. "It doesn't. But I'm only as effective as the power that stands behind me. Place and situation like this?" He shook his head a little. No, he wasn't into philosophical arguments about how much was left of him when he finally got his badge taken away - he was sure it was coming.

"Too many people libel to challenge the authority and that's not a good energy for a small town. Does me no favors either. There's no institution to enforce it. Gotta be done a little less.. heavy handed. I grew up in a small town. Coal mining town called Harlan. They didn't believe in Government, insofar as they could get away with it.. Had a Marshal come into there, he would have found quite a cold and inhospitable greetin'."

The even softness of the tale was almost entrancing with the way Raylan spoke about it - no trauma, no mention of the death or the hell that hid in the dark there.

"Whaddya mean 'bard'? That D&D shit? Generally Tim's area.." God he wished Tim was here, his fellow Marshal would be all over this.

"You think I would admit it if she was FBI?" Athena sniffs scornfully, a touch of the bravado returning.

He has a relaxing voice. It's weird. It's not Jeff's voice, exactly, not with that accent or without the breathy quickness that he sometimes has when he talks. Still. It's soothing, in its own way.

"My family's from Staten Island. A whole genealogy of Cop, Son of Cop, y'know?"

She contorted one arm around behind her head to scratch at the base of her neck, instead of just reaching back to do it. Why? Eh. She felt like it.

Athena scuffs at the snow, not kicking it as kick or as eagerly as she was before. She shoots him a quizzical look. "What d'you mean, what do I mean? Bard. Like. Bard."

He smirked crookedly at that, though it fell away again as Athena continued about her family, nodding faintly. Yeah, they had those type too and it was never a good thing. Raylan didn't have anything against local cops on their face, unless they were plainly stupid or incompetent but that had less to do with their job and more to do with his judgement of them... And the hiring office there, whatever.

"You keep sayin' that like that'll explain it," he replied with a little back and forth gesture of his index finger, lazily held at the level of his hips. He didn't even realize he gestured as much as he did half the time. "You mean Bard like those assholes in medieval times that played the lute? Because I believe we call those people musicians now, is that what you are? This some... millennial thing I don't understand or somethin'?"

"I play the piano, first of all, but I'm sure there's some nerd bard out there who goes the whole hog medieval route."

She looks positively baffled at this point. "Dude, your generation coined it. I think. How old are you anyway? Were you too old for the whole 80s DnD thing?" She squints at him for a moment. "I can't tell from here. I mean I probably couldn't tell anyway, but that's not the point."

Athena waves that question off. She, too, has no real awareness of how much she talks with her hands. "I really don't get what you want me to explain. I'm a bard. I have the Gift with music."

The fact that there were 'nerd Bards' and the fact that she seemingly refused to use the word musician told Raylan a little. So it was a D&D thing. Shit he coulda used Tim right now. His head tilted a little at the question of his age - No, he wasn't going to tell her but his age had little to do with it.

Harlan however..

"A gift.. So you're.. Talented. Great, glad we cleared that up," he said as he started walking again. "What's the DGA then?"

Maybe he'd get a more sensical answer with that.

"I mean, yeah, I'm talented, but that's not..." She's even more confused now. "What do you mean what's the DGA? Everyone knows what the DGA is. It's the motherfucking... It's the Department of Gifted Affairs. Everyone-- You said you were a fed."

The wariness creeps in again. "Are you high or something?"

Raylan sighed the sigh of a deeply confused and frustrated man and kept moving.

"I am and we don't let talent agencies onto the list. Speakin' of, I want my badge back once you're closer. No consolation prizes for bein' in hell."

Edited 2021-03-14 00:17 (UTC)

Athena, however, stops. Because it's hitting her, really hitting her, that he doesn't know what she's talking about.

"You really don't know what the Gift is."

It takes a moment of actual effort to start walking again, the shock is so thick. "How can you not know?"

The question is more to herself than to him. "So you... you really don't know what I mean when I say bard. Or kirby. Or like, angle-chaser. None of that."

"Nope," he answered, largely unaware of how much of a revelation this was.

Raylan looked over sidelong. "Ain't Kirby that fat video game characters that sucks everything up? The south would call an angle-chaser a carpetbagger, but I'm gonna take a guess and assume that they aren't the same thing." A beat passed. "You gonna fill me in or let me keep guessin'."

It honestly was a question, even if his inflection didn't lift at the end like it was.

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SO MANY THINGS HE DOES NOT UNDERSTAND HERE lol

poor, poor Raylan

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