villagemod: (ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀ)
The Village Mod ([personal profile] villagemod) wrote in [community profile] villagememes2021-03-08 05:08 pm
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test drive — spring



SPRING 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.

Prospective players are welcome to play with any of the established locations within Mathias.

( Recommended listening: )





GHOSTS OF THE LIVING

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.



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trigeminalheadache: (513-001)

[personal profile] trigeminalheadache 2021-04-28 03:03 am (UTC)(link)
She has the good sense to look sheepish. Her hands wrap around the mug again, tighter this time. Better to think about the warmth instead of her foot halfway down her throat. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I know better that," she confesses, ducking her head a moment. As a doctor, she really does.

But try him, hmm. What would sound the most outlandish, the most over the top? "I've been mind-controlled by a telepathic gorilla who has, or had, a soft spot for me because I took care of him before he got powers. Or... my former boss turned out to be a superpowered sociopath from the future who traveled back in time to kill a boy who would end up becoming one of my best friends. He failed in that mission, ended up stuck, took the literal identity of a scientist who was destined to become famous, and, a little over a decade later, sabotaged the particle accelerator we built so it would explode the night we first turned it on so he could manipulate that same boy-now-man to develop super speed and work to steal it so he could go home."

Thawne is a trippy rabbit hole that she'd like to avoid ever thinking about again. But his story sounds like something out of a pulpy sci-fi novel.

abrightboy: (consider this)

[personal profile] abrightboy 2021-04-28 12:11 pm (UTC)(link)
He frowns faintly at her apology.

“You... don’t need to apologize; you couldn’t have known,” he tells her gently.

He raises his eyebrows as she gives examples.

“That’s a wild dimension you come from. So. Superpowers, right?”
trigeminalheadache: (307-097)

[personal profile] trigeminalheadache 2021-04-28 04:40 pm (UTC)(link)
He says she doesn't need to apologize, but she still feels guilty. Words and phrases have stigmas to them, and she's working to correct her own language. But she takes him at his word. No harm.

She shrugs gently, sipping her coffee. "Superpowers, costumed vigilantes. Aliens, both good and bad. Time travel. Doppelgangers," she lists off, almost rambling. "More. But yeah, things can get wild on Earth-1."

She doesn't think twice about the term sounding odd. It makes sense where she's from, "So I take it things aren't that flavor of wild where you're from?"
abrightboy: (concedes happily)

[personal profile] abrightboy 2021-04-29 02:17 am (UTC)(link)
He laughs with a cant of his head.

“Nothing that wild, no. Just run of the mill ritual murder and serial killers,” he says.
trigeminalheadache: (202-021)

[personal profile] trigeminalheadache 2021-04-29 02:30 am (UTC)(link)
"Well, that's fun, too. Who doesn't love the occasional ritual murder?" Hopefully, her tone conveys just how much she's kidding right now. He gets it, right? He gets it. Talk of serial killers still hits a little close to home for her. It might always, though she wishes it wouldn't. She's put him pretty firmly in her past.

"So, the other people here. The other arrivals," she clarifies, "how many are there?"
skladka: <user name=squarebox> (11)

Aleksander Kirigan | Shadow and Bone (netflix)

[personal profile] skladka 2021-04-29 02:33 am (UTC)(link)
i.ghosts;
[ Kirigan hasn't been here long--a day, perhaps, enough to get a rough lay of the land. Enough that he feels himself turning back to a familiar feeling, a familiar emotional state: he's aware of where he is, and now that slow, simmering rage is sliding easily back into him. It returns as quickly as his patience does, two dueling aspects of him as he faces the realization that he's trapped here, his power dimmed, his greatness shackled. Kirigan's plans are not only rendered useless, but no longer relevant. His jaw tightens every time the thought flickers across his mind, hands clenching.

The mist begins to envelop the village, rolling in quick, and the Darkling finds himself surrounded by thick walls of white. It's bright, and he finds himself far more disoriented than he'd either like or care to admit--he brings a hand up, still calm, gaze piercing as he tries to push the shadows he can gather and summon towards it. Smokey tendrils move, gathering from any part his power can reach, drawing from shadow and darkness with ease and grace, moving them forward with a gentle flex of his index finger. The shadows whirl forward, following Kirigan's bidding only to dissipate immediately once it hits the encroaching fog. It fizzles, mixing gray before the fog moves in, and Kirigan is left with the unpleasant thought that not only has this place taken most of his power from him, it also seems to be taunting him.

He doesn't have time to run. He's left blind, that simmering discontent threatening to rise, ringing in his ears, loud in comparison to how the cold fog dampens any other sound. He tries to maintain a single direction and walk towards it, although when the disorientation and hits him it proves difficult.

Kirigan wanders, a tall figure clad in nothing but black, back straight and proud unless a wave of nausea kicks in. This isn't the first time he's stumbled out of something, unwillingly weak, though it's difficult to ignore how pathetic he feels. Perhaps he tries to enter a house someone has taken refuge in. Perhaps he sees someone else's Other. Regardless, he tries his best to straighten once he realizes someone is near, fighting off another wave of dizziness.
]


ii. to see;
[ This place is small. It's also a far cry from the Little Palace he'd let himself grow accustomed to. Kirigan has been around for a long, long time, but the vast majority of architecture and technology in this realm foreign to him. It's intriguing, yes, and he recognizes almost nothing, but town halls are still town halls, and information is still information. Someone has informed him of a bulletin board.

He enters, tall and imposing, and it doesn't take him long to find what he's looking for. Scraps of paper, things written by various people ranging from immaculate penmanship to chicken scratch. His gaze flicks through all of it, well aware of the eye in red, his own face completely passive save for a small parting of his lips.

It may be information, but it's terribly cluttered. It's a mild annoyance, however, and the bigger one is the messy eye that has damaged everything. He leans over, perhaps a little closer than necessary to examine it, and brings a finger out to touch it. Blood. Blood, and the sudden feeling of being watched.

Kirigan's lips curl, and he turns his head to the entrance.
]

Can I help you?

[ His voice is calm and soft, clearly British. He remains exactly how he is, leaning forward, finger still raised, blood smeared on it, head turned towards whoever has decided to come in. Had they been the sudden reason he felt like he wasn't alone?

iii. wildcard;
[ Kirigan will be coming from post series, but I'll be as vague as possible about it in order to avoid spoilers unless you give me the go-ahead. He'll be skulking around the graveyard and the library, and can be seen taking his meals at the grey gull. If you'd like a personalized starter or to plot, feel free to hit up [plurk.com profile] whitespire! ]
endlessflask: (025)

ghosts;

[personal profile] endlessflask 2021-04-29 02:42 am (UTC)(link)
[ Eliot hadn't expected to come back here. The life he got to keep living when he returned home wasn't what he thought it would be, and in the end, maybe he's glad to be back in Matthias because everyone else is gone, too. To new Fillory, which he hopes is better and he hopes it's perfect.

He does feel bad about abandoning Penny and Julia and Charlton, though. Especially Charlton.

Luckily, there's plenty of time to feel shitty about it. He's glad that the house he lived at before is the same. Untouched, unlived in, probably still his. And the fog is trickling in, so Eliot knows to keep his door closed and keep himself inside.

Eliot is not expecting a visitor, which is what happens when a man stumbles in.
]

Jesus Christ - [ What? He's startled. But he moves fast to slam the door closed before the mist can curl in. ] - Are you all right?

[ If the stranger's been stuck outside, then Eliot can only imagine what might happen to him. ]
trigeminalheadache: (8ndt03P)

to see;

[personal profile] trigeminalheadache 2021-04-29 03:23 am (UTC)(link)
[ caitlin isn’t sure how far she’s walked. the beach feels like an hour ago and ten minutes ago at the same time. she could chalk her disorientation up to waking up in a strange place, obviously very far from home; that would throw off plenty of people. but it’s more than that. it’s this place. it’s strange. it’s off. her ears feel like they’re ringing from lack of any other sounds. roads, but no cars. houses, but no people. no birdsongs or the buzzing of insects. there’s nothing.

but… there has to be something.

the town hall looks normal enough. government buildings look like government buildings, no matter where they are. there has to be people inside, right? people who work here, who live in town. maybe the whole side of town she’s walked through is just abandoned. that happens to places. that’s normal. she keeps clinging to the idea like it’s a warm blanket.

she stops just inside the doorway as he speaks. soft, british. does he work here? no, he doesn’t look like he works here. someone who works here probably wouldn’t be inspecting the… wall? no, a bulletin board. he wouldn’t be looking at a bulletin board that closely. she no doubt looks like a huge mess. she’s no longer dripping, but she’s still sodden, still wet. her feet leave damp footprints in their wake as she moves closer. there are bits of wet sand clinging to her tangle of hair and the pajamas she wears.

what does she say now?
]

I just… where is everyone?
abrightboy: (just one more thing)

[personal profile] abrightboy 2021-04-29 09:45 am (UTC)(link)
“Over twenty now. Arrived at different times, all seemingly from different.... “ a beat. “You said ‘Earth-1’. How many do you know of?”
trigeminalheadache: (aed6hS4)

[personal profile] trigeminalheadache 2021-04-29 12:10 pm (UTC)(link)
Over twenty. That's... that's not much at all. Not even a crowd. It's about twice as many people who show up at Joe's for Christmas. And here, they had a whole town to spread out in.

She blinks and sets down her coffee cup. "After the Singularity, we knew of 52. Then, after the attack at Barry's wedding, we became aware of a 53rd: Earth-X. An Earth that was isolated, blocked off, by the other Earths aware of it," she says, toying with the handle on her mug. "But now, as in literally the past 2-3 days, we became aware of an Earth-90. And that Earth was being destroyed."
abrightboy: (consider this)

[personal profile] abrightboy 2021-04-29 12:27 pm (UTC)(link)
He cocks his head, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Destroyed by what?” he asks.
trigeminalheadache: (305-040)

[personal profile] trigeminalheadache 2021-04-29 12:49 pm (UTC)(link)
She takes a breath as if to steel herself. The Flash of Earth-90 had relayed some of this to her and the others, but she was still sorting it all out when she went to bed last night.

She bites her lower lip before speaking. "A being known as the Monitor with an object called 'The Book of Destiny.' The one survivor came to our Earth to warn us that the Monitor was testing Earths, and that his Earth, that he failed." Her head feels like it's totally cleared, and that's both good and bad. Being able to think is a plus, but it means that she can see these things vividly.

"Our Earth passed, but we were warned that a crisis is coming," she continues, finishing with a half-shrug. "People like that really enjoy the cryptic, ominous feeling."
perroquet: (Default)

to see;

[personal profile] perroquet 2021-04-29 10:09 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Gildor hasn't come here for information. He arrives out of pure chance, wandering through the mist. He can feel how thick it is to breathe, how it clings to his clothes and makes his skin clammy, and it muffles every sound. It makes navigating the town more difficult, so much that he's beginning to believe this isn't a town at all. He's died and ended up in some kind of some kind of personal hell.

Though it becomes a little easier to breathe when he reaches the building's doorway, and easier to hear in the enclosed space. He thought he heard the rustling of papers, and the faint breath of another. And he was right. ]


Perhaps. Unless you are also lost.

[ He stands in the doorway, cutting a dark silhouette against the white outside. Medium height, slender and draped in a grey-green jacket with flowing split-sleeves, pointed ears. Though the most striking thing about him is the staff he carries; long and thin, and seemingly made of pure darkness. So black it makes the shadows around him look like daylight by contrast. He holds it at an angle and scrapes the floor ahead of him with one end of it, approaching cautiously.

But then he stops. He lifts his head a bit, inhaling the dusty air through his nose. The other voice had sounded somewhat annoyed, and now he's catching notice of something that's setting alarm bells off in his head. ]


That smell... [ His voice goes timid. ] Is that... blood? [ And then, concerned. ] Do you need a healer?
bestfuneralever: (N4_57)

ghosts; read it, watched it, spoilers all good

[personal profile] bestfuneralever 2021-04-29 11:41 pm (UTC)(link)
Mathias is a lot to deal with and sometimes, he just can't be inside, trapped by the walls of his and Five's room at the boarding house, waiting for the next awful thing to happen. Right now, the fog has stolen his usual head-clearer activity of going for sometimes specific, sometimes wandering walks.

He hovers at the window downstairs, trying to see through the fog. If someone's caught out in it, he'll lead them to the boarding house. He knows what happens to people that get stuck in the fog here.

If just so happens, he does notice someone. Close enough to the boarding house it might be possible to--

"Hey!" He throws the front door open, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Tall, dark, and sexy! Come inside, it's not safe in the fog!"
abrightboy: (tries to understand)

[personal profile] abrightboy 2021-04-30 12:34 am (UTC)(link)
“A similar sort of apocalypse?” he asks.
skladka: <user name=squarebox> (13)

[personal profile] skladka 2021-04-30 12:52 am (UTC)(link)
[ He's made it. He's somewhere safer now and the Darkling doesn't much care for where at the moment--someone closes a door behind him, and it gives the shadow summoner time to lean, one hand against a wall, breathing heavily.

He hates this. He hates how weak he feels, how disgusting he feels, how that rage is simmering, bubbling back up, threatening to burst to the surface as he stares at the ground, focusing on a single point to try to fight the nausea. That fog was unnatural. Were he stronger, had he had an army, he'd try to harness it, and now? Now, he's simply in a stranger's place trying not to throw up. It's unseemly.

It's infuriating.

He looks up one the feeling starts to ebb from him, though his gaze is still dark and cold. ]


What was that? [ It's a hair's breadth away from being a command for the other to answer. ]
trigeminalheadache: (507-011)

[personal profile] trigeminalheadache 2021-04-30 01:04 am (UTC)(link)
"Worse, from what my friend tells me," she answers. "I didn't meet the Monitor myself. Or, if I did? I wouldn't remember it. That Book of Destiny gives whoever has it the ability to rewrite reality." It's as bad as it sounds.

"When I woke up on the beach, just now, I thought this was just another rewrite. But then I realized if it was, I wouldn't remember everything from before."
endlessflask: (028)

[personal profile] endlessflask 2021-04-30 01:17 am (UTC)(link)
Fucked if I know.

[ Eliot glances out the window as the fog blankets the town and represses a shudder. He doesn't think that anyone really knows, either, but he's going to have to get someone to fill him in on what he's missed.

For now, he has to do what he does best: play the host. It's not ideal circumstances for company, and there's still no alcohol Eliot's found. There is tea, though. The man looks like he needs a good ginger blend to settle his stomach - and maybe Eliot can find some of the remedies he was working on when he left.
]

Couch is just over there if you want to sit. I'll throw some tea together. Make yourself at home.
abrightboy: (curiosity)

[personal profile] abrightboy 2021-04-30 01:21 am (UTC)(link)
"It is easy to assume this place isn't real, in one way or another. More natural than accepting it, really," Malcolm observes. "We haven't been able to figure out how it works or... how to get out."
trigeminalheadache: (507-001)

[personal profile] trigeminalheadache 2021-04-30 01:44 am (UTC)(link)
"This is probably a ridiculous question, but..." She looks down at her coffee. Asking this while looking at him somehow feels dumb. "What keeps everyone here? What's to stop anyone from just walking out of town?"
abrightboy: (regretful)

[personal profile] abrightboy 2021-04-30 01:51 am (UTC)(link)
"The ocean on one side," he replies. She probably noticed that. "The fog everywhere else." He leans forward faintly but earnestly. "Never enter the fog."
trigeminalheadache: (aed6hS4)

[personal profile] trigeminalheadache 2021-04-30 01:54 am (UTC)(link)
Caitlin raises her eyebrows at him. "The fog. You mean, the fog I just walked through to end up here?" she asks, pointing back in the direction of the front door. "That fog? Or is that a different fog? What does the fog do?"
abrightboy: (curiosity)

[personal profile] abrightboy 2021-04-30 02:09 am (UTC)(link)
"The fog with the dead people in it? That's different," he says, taking a sip of his coffee and looking away.
trigeminalheadache: (507-008)

[personal profile] trigeminalheadache 2021-04-30 02:14 am (UTC)(link)
"Okay, okay. So two different fogs." That's not at all settling or comforting. The longer she sits here, the more sure she is that the fog she walked through was causing her dizziness. She feels clear now, feels like herself again. Still damp and possibly with sand in places it shouldn't be, but herself.

"Tell me about the fog that keeps people from leaving. Why shouldn't someone walk into it?"
abrightboy: (unsure)

[personal profile] abrightboy 2021-04-30 02:20 am (UTC)(link)
"It's like an extra strong version of this fog. You didn't feel well after walking through it, right? The other fog acts faster. And then kills," he explains.

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