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.
Prospective players are welcome to play with any of the established locations within Mathias.
The fog moves in quickly and without warning, not from the waterfront but the forest, cascading through every street in a thick wave of white. It is not a soft blanket enveloping the town, but a heavy weight pressing down, threatening to suffocate as the sky is blotted out and no one can see more than ten feet in any direction.
Those who are outside when it rolls in are left wandering blind, hoping that a randomly chosen direction will lead them to shelter or another living soul. There are perhaps even those who were lucky enough to already be inside when the fog descended, quickly closing doors and windows to keep it from creeping in. Wherever they are, the residents of Mathias will soon notice that they are not the only ones in the fog.
Anyone out in the fog is left disoriented, possibly losing their sense of time and place, and it is only after prolonged exposure that they will begin to feel off. A sense of being ill will cling to them if they are in the fog for too long, including dizziness, lightheadedness, or nausea — the time it takes to manifest varies from person to person, as does the duration it will last after leaving the fog.
With all of these elements at play, the first strange apparitions encountered may be assumed to be figments of addled minds, tricks played by psyches struggling to cope with the strange reality they've found themselves in. But before long, there will be no denying that the Others in the fog are real. Appearing almost wraithlike and startlingly recognizable, these figures even feel a bit like ghosts to those who can sense such things, though everyone will feel that there is something wrong about them. Truly, there are many things wrong that residents will begin to notice as they encounter more and more of the spectres that do not acknowledge their presence in any way. They simply exist, silent and subtly terrifying like so many things in this town.
Like misty ghosts of those who have been in the town at one point or another, the Others appear as those who have died or disappeared and even those currently within the town. The likeness is truly uncanny, to the point of being completely terrifying, made even more so when they realize there is no way to communicate with the Others. They do not acknowledge anyone's presence nor anything said to them. At times, they may be only one in an area, or there may be a dozen existing in the same space. There is no limit to how many people can see them — if they are there, they are seen by all.
The Others do not enter buildings and cannot be contained in any way. They can appear at one moment and be gone in the next, or they can exist in one place for hours on end. Whether standing stationary or slowly wandering throughout the town, there is no discernible purpose to them. There is something absent and distant in the way they hold themselves, the way they walk, and their expressions, as if even they cannot grasp what is happening.
A BIT OF EXPLORATION
There are plenty of places in which to get one's bearings and hide from the fog.
There are businesses on the square, nestled around and extending out from the Town Hall. There is a schoolhouse nestled by the southern treeline, not from the rather expansive makeshift cemetery at the end of Jackson Boulevard that is courtesy of a few kind residents in town. To the far north of the square is a sprawling garden, now covered in snow, and a greenhouse that once supplied the botanical shop. And to the east and west, beyond the business square, is are residential districts.
The eastern district sprawls all the way to the beach, with some houses in perfect condition and others beginning to show significant signs of age. The western district, however, is nothing but decay. From the beginnings of rot to completely collapsed and little more than a pile of proverbial bones, none of these homes are anything resembling livable. Well, as far as one can tell, at least. For between the streets of Hill Lane and Stine Road there is a crack in the earth. A dozen feet across and fifty feet down, there is no way across.
TO SEE AND BE SEEN
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. Covering the board are tacked-on 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 painted directly across the center of the board, visible in the gaps between the pieces of paper, is a symbol in dark red. While peering at that obscured symbol, a strange breeze ruffles the papers, revealing a little more, just enough to—
An eye. A strange, ornate eye with three lobes, painted in still-wet red. And upon close examination, a keen eye will realize that the paint is actually blood, perhaps even human.
The longer someone stands there, the more it will feel like they are being watched, even studied, with great interest. It's a sensation that lingers and stays with them even when they exit the building.
"That is the best news I've heard all day." About the Library that is.
"I'll leave it to you then, there doesn't seem much else to do here thus far." He'll pull up a chair and have a seat, crossing one leg over his knee and sipping his moonshine.
It frustrates Crowley, that he has no memory of what surely should have been an unforgettable few days, from the story that he's been given the spark notes for. The thing that sticks is that they apparently found the Antichrist, maybe even before it was too late, if he gave Aziraphale a new corporation.
The why is on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it.]
Alright, the Antichrist gave you a body, not exactly what I thought the answer there would be, but I suppose it makes sense. Did he start Armageddon before or after that?
"You never met a guy like this," he mutters in reply.
Billy decides to ignore the magics comment. He realizes it's probably real, all things considered, but it's pretty low on his list of priorities right now. Still, he lets the man - Dorian - keep talking. Some people need to talk. Billy's not one of them, but he's not gonna tell the guy to shut up, either.
"Billy." Because he hasn't actually said his name yet. "At least it really breaks the ice."
[ Billy's mouth sets in a thin line as her whole demeanor changes. He knows it's because she's seen his face, but as far as he's concerned, it's because his face must be some horror. His perfect piece of armor, ruined forever, and now he's seeing just how the rest of the world will start reacting to him.
But then she says that, and while Billy is still bristling about her reacting to his face, he has to ask - ]
[ He doesn't really owe this Kirigan a full explanation, and Billy can already see that they're both dancing around the edge of the conversation. The guy doesn't wanna give up too much of himself, either. Billy can respect that, even if he can feel some sort of anger simmering inside him by looking at what should be his own face. ]
[ That's the most reasonable headspace to land in for the spark notes.
Aziraphale pulls a face, tips his head to one side. A facial shrug. ]
I'd say before, technically.
[ He pauses. Steps over and levers himself to sit on the ground next to Crowley, with all the graceful ease of someone who hasn't sat on the ground in at least a few centuries, by choice. ]
Of course, considering the world very much didn't end, I'll have more trouble than usual trying to place anything on that timeline.
[That's new. Aziraphale choosing to be close. Crowley hasn't forgotten that he held his hand not that long ago, but that was him reaching out, likely just being tolerated, it wasn't a choice he made.
Crowley desperately wants to lean into him, or take his hand again, but he tells himself it's better to let Aziraphale decide those sorts of things, and anyway, what comes next is far too distracting.]
Apart from giving Adam some encouragement and some time to think, I think we actually had very little to do with how well things went. He did most of it on his own.
[ And also a gaggle of children stabbed some Horsemen, but that??? Honestly, Aziraphale is still fucking processing that one. What even was that whole day.
It's possible to sound proud of the two of them for failing so hard that someone else succeeded for them and to sound proud of a kid that he tried to shoot and then only knew for ten minutes or so. It's possible, because Aziraphale is sounding just that. Aziraphale has always been easy. ]
Despite our best incompetent efforts, the real Antichrist turned out to be a delightfully, perfectly imperfect human. [ Which is to say, like most people, capable of quite a lot if given love and half a chance. ] Set the world back to rights overnight.
[ He's trying to embrace those parts, to let himself lean into the real joy left over from them. Because there's an unavoidable ache that comes with relaying everything secondhand to Crowley despite the fact that Crowley was there for it. For all the chaos and terror and relief, the long quiet night after. For Heaven and Hell. All of it.
If the memory's really gone, if Crowley doesn't get it back, it isn't going to be exactly the same. Maybe not unrecognizably different, but still different.
(What else might he lose, he doesn't think. Which is to say that Aziraphale thinks it, very clearly, and then tries extremely hard to repress it for now. Repression is his most utilized life skill.) ]
"My theory is that we're being kept here in this... enclosure, as it were, to be observed. I don't know whether that's for scientific curiosity or entertainment, but... it doesn't really matter," he explains.
It's a hard truth to swallow when he'd only recently started to make his peace with the fact it was going to end. Crowley is a stubborn thing, clings to hope even when it's stupid to, the way he's been clinging to the hope that Aziraphale might love him for thousands and thousands of years.
But he'd started to lose hope that they could do anything to stop Armageddon, especially once Aziraphale was gone. In a way, it's sort of funny that Armageddon was apparently stopped without their interference. All that planning, all that stress, all for nothing.
He realises he's been quiet for too long, with his head tipped back against the wall, staring at a crack in the glass ceiling.]
S'good. That the Earth's alright.
[That Aziraphale is alright, apparently. And himself, he has to assume, or Aziraphale would've been shocked to see him.]
Sorry I don't — that I don't remember it. Really not sure how long I've been out there, felt like it's been years.
[He thinks I was looking for you, but isn't brave enough to say it.]
[ Aziraphale full on snorts. A snort of almost-offense, which would be full offense if he weren't worried as a baseline. Which is like, definitely a kind of energy to bring to this occasion. ]
Blast the apology, Crowley. It's not even your fault. I'm just grateful I wound up here so someone could find you at all.
[ Aziraphale will throw down with an eldritch terror about it all if he must. Can't rule it out. It feels dreadful here.
He goes back to his favorite hand-wringing standby. ]
But I do hope it wasn't that long.
[ That would be a whole second throwdown to schedule with the hypothetical terror. ]
[ It's a mutual thought, it appears: this is strange and they're both careful men, circling each other. He can't shake the feeling of some sort of cruel joke being played. Would he look like that, had he arrived in this place only a moment after? Torn completely apart, instead of beginning to be? The sea had washed off his black blood, cleaning him as if readying him to be reborn.
And then this. This man, with scars on his face, looking at him just as evenly. The Darkling's eyes glint, before flicking over to the cuts.
The Darkling offers his hand without hesitation, taking it, his own grip firm.
"Kirigan," he introduces, nodding as the other answers. It's fascinating to him, how the other's talents differ. It's not the first time it's happened in this village but it's rare enough that the Darkling is taking careful note.
"I'd say it's a pleasure to meet you, but given the circumstances, I'm sure you're just as irritated as all of us." There's almost a smile, thin and dripping with disdain, but there.
There's something wrong with this place gets a scrunched-up face of general agreement.
It would be one thing if he could work out what the something is. Easier to live around an unknown, ominous something if you've got an idea where to start.
Then again, having this conversation at all has made its case for the fact that people would be in and out for books all the time anyway. And unlike home, he couldn't just close up if he needed the space. Oh, well. Ships in the night.
His expression warms up entirely from there. At the end of the day, there's compassion and care that goes into taking the time to answer a question, to sincerely advise someone about anything at all. Aziraphale is the exact sort of soft touch who's always been easy to win over. It's him.
Comes in the package with loving humanity very much already, maybe.
"I'm sure just a room will be fine, dear boy, thank you. If you give me your friend's name, I'll be sure to-- make his acquaintance. Get introduced."
He misses his whole one friend. Hopefully Crowley's at least alright, wherever he is.
ghosts of the living -- or maybe i will just do this now bc it occurred to me
[ Aziraphale's 'Oh. Oh, you poor thing,' is somewhat cut off by the loud yell that sounds vaguely like HIYAAHHHH from slighter further down the road.
Aziraphale might feel bad for these... whatever-they-ares. Athena is just creeped the hell out. And is dealing with it by swinging a bigass stick through every ghost thing that comes close to her and yelling incoherently at it. ]
Zanki really, really hopes not. He's not done yet. (Todoroki still needs him.) The character on his arm should continue to give him pseudo-life, even while it shreds his soul.
He is thoroughly lost, whether this be the afterlife or just the present one. He continues to walk through the fog, his shoes near soundless on the short, wet grass, until he hears a voice. There's more relief in him than he wants to admit, even though it's not a familiar voice.
"I'm not 'Ben'," he says quietly, hoping not to startle this person heading towards him. "My apologies."
[One big sap deserves another, right? In any case, Tai feels similarly about these poor whatever-they-ares... and has some much more personal feelings about one in particular he's run across. So far, they're the only beings he's found, so it's a pleasant surprise to hear a voice nearby and follow it to someone who seems corporeal.
The presence of another one who is not so corporeal explains the comment.]
I don't think they can see us. Or hear us.
[Whether that's fortunate or unfortunate, he really doesn't know. He isn't certain what they are, if they're real, if they feel anything. It would be nice to think they're just some kind of illusion.]
The fog has certainly been an inconvenience up until now, but in this moment, Tai could curse it. Ben--the strange apparition that looked like Ben--didn't have to get more than a couple feet farther away from him before he started disappearing into the mist, and now Tai's lost track of where he went. If he's even still there. Whatever that was, it wasn't Ben. Not the way Tai knew him. Not alive.
Last Tai was aware, Ben was one of the only people he'd known who still was alive, so he doesn't really want to think about what that might mean.
But as it turns out, as soon as he loses track of Ben, he finds someone else. That's comforting in a couple different ways. He makes his way toward the voice until he can make out a person there, relieved that it seems to be a real person this time.
"Oh... hi." This is a bit of an awkward way to meet someone, but it's certainly better than being alone in this fog. "I thought I saw someone I knew," he turns to glance again in the direction he'd last seen the ghost, but of course there's nothing there but fog. He frowns. "But I guess not."
Zanki wears jeans, a black t-shirt, and a light jacket. Nondescript, and
forgettable, as is always the intention. He's warm enough, though the air
is chill.
He makes a wryly sympathetic face. "I'd thought I'd just left a friend in
the hospital, but no matter how much I tried to retrace my steps, that
didn't work, either. Were you here with your friend?"
Tai, meanwhile, wears the kind of mostly loose, tan clothing that would identify him as a Jedi student to anyone who had the context to identify such a thing. He's not sure whether or not to expect that anyone here will. Really, he's not even sure where "here" is.
"Ah, no." He doesn't think so, anyway. He had been with Ben, before. And then... there was a lot of pain, and everything went dark. He can't say for certain what happened, it was too quick. But when he came back to consciousness, he was here, by himself. And then the fog rolled in.
"I came here alone." It's the easiest answer he can give. He's not really certain of much else right now. Except that he's not even entirely certain of that, considering. "...I think."
The way Tai moves does make Zanki suspect he does something physical,
possibly some form of fighting, but he doesn't have the cultural referent
to go any further than that.
"Aa," Zanki says quietly, looking around, letting the silence settle over
them for a long moment. He's not one to chat unnecessarily.
It's difficult to see much, and the fog transmits sounds oddly. "No sign of
any demons?"
"Demons?" Tai raises an eyebrow at that. He's only ever heard that word used in some folktales... though some would certainly say the same about the Jedi, and they're real enough. Still, he wouldn't know what one is supposed to look like.
His thoughts go back to Ben. The thing that looked like Ben. It couldn't have actually been him, could it? It didn't feel like him, that's for certain. But what it was, he can't say. He decides not to say anything more about it before the other man elaborates.
Tai definitely has never heard of an oni, whatever that is. But he nods to the question, even as he frowns slightly.
"My lightsaber is missing, though." He knows he had it before, but he didn't after he woke up. He typically carries it with him, so it's a little unsettling, being without it.
Page 18 of 24