The Village Mod (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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villagememes2021-03-08 05:08 pm
villagemod) wrote in villagememes2021-03-08 05:08 pm
Entry tags:
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.
no subject
The.Fuck
"Thinking it's your turn for the drug testing," he remarked, harkening back to their conversation was approaching Eve's house. Whether he was more bemused at the idea of magical invisible wizard and murder fog, or the idea of 'having a blast'? Raylan could make his own determination.
The second bit of news was unwelcome, unsurprising but also strangely reassuring. At least it was reassuring when it came from Raylan. Tim still gave his empty holster a light flick with his fingers but then purposefully lifted his arms and crossed them over his chest.
"Please tell me there's alcohol somewhere, because if I have to listen to magical invisible wizard shit then it needs to be over a beer." Or something stronger? His eyebrows lifted on that last, unspoken part, hopefully.
no subject
"Shit, if only," he said of the drugs. Raylan had never been one to do them in any form that wasn't Jim Beam, he wouldn't have said no to a hit or two of weed just for the fractional relief. Raylan figured Tim thought he was being sarcastic, joking, exaggerating for the sake of the metaphor. It wasn't going to be easy convincing him that he wasn't.
"General store nearby still has some beer, last I checked. Take it while you can get it 'cause we're down to brewing our own bathtub moonshine when the stores aren't flush." He jerked his head towards the door, waiting for Tim to get up to him before falling into step. "Sorry to say we drank all the good stuff before you came. Next run that appears, we'll save you a bottle."
no subject
"Apple pie?"
It was a very important question!
no subject
Raylan had to hum a note at the mention of Apple pie, very important question indeed, before shaking his head and opening the door with a gesture so he could follow Tim out. "Older than that. Which ain't a good thing, but it's better than the nothin' that was here when I showed up. Beer and tub moonshine is a step up. Had to pull out copper pipin' like I was gonna hock it. Guy I found is from.. He's an older sort-" How the hell was he gonna explain that. Fuck magic, he could talk Tim around to his own acceptance of it, but the whole time thing was still weird when Raylan put too much thought into it. "-knew a recipe. Needs plenty of agin' but it hasn't killed us yet."
He was also sure that Tim had noted the new faint scars running along the left side of his face, but he wasn't going to volunteer anything until it was broached.
no subject
Tim considered asking where the hell they were going but he didn't know the lay of the land so he would follow where Raylan lead. And if it turned out that Raylan was following him? Well then they were both fucked. But Tim figured Raylan, in his laid back cowboy way was discreetly herding Tim where he wanted Tim to go. Raylan was very good at nuanced manipulation of circumstances.
"What's the last thing you remember before landing on Fantasy Island here."
no subject
He took a deep breath at the question, chin tucking in a little as he decided how much to share. "We'd just finished a case. Pawn shop owner dealin' Oxy with the Dixie Mafia. Got home, cracked open a beer, sat down.." Read the latest 'I need space don't follow me' note from Winona. "Then I woke up on the beach by the Gull. Be glad you didn't get that welcolmin', that sand gets everywhere. What about you, what's the last thing you remember? By the way, no little man in a tuxedo to welcome any of us, but Mathis does like to give us her fantasies."
no subject
Alcohol or his rifle.
Tim stopped in mid step and looked over at Raylan's profile. "The hell? That was yea..." he began before he snapped his mouth so sharply his teeth clacked. He stood still then except for where his head turned taking in an almost 360 view.
"This is bullshit," he didn't snarl, Tim never snarled just as he never yelled, unless discharging orders in the line of duty. But his tight tone was a suggestion of the temper Art Mullen had been wary of for years.
no subject
Raylan stopped with him, looking sidelong over as Tim started the first of many chews over this place. He'd worked with Gutterson long enough to know that look. The look like he wanted to hit or shoot something. He couldn't blame him.
"I'll let you know when I find the department to file a complaint with." Was he about to say yesterday? Were they that close in the pull from where they came from? "Wait til you talk to the people who've seen 2039 or 2023. Wish there was anythin' to put a cherry on top of this shit show but the beer and the moonshine are about it. And the fact we ain't having to scavenge for food. Not that there's anything to hunt if that stops. Or anythin' to kill it with."
no subject
Then he exhaled explosively and forced himself to relax. If he gave Raylan the opportunity to be direct with him, he trusted the man would be direct with him. Raylan was many kinds of an asshole but he was a direct asshole. It was part of his charm, and part of why Tim tended to give him leeway when he knew Raylan was lying to his face.
Looking at the other man's features Tim recognized that Raylan wasn't -or at least did not believe- that he was lying to him now. The events Raylan recalled were almost a year ago for Tim, and he wasn't sure if that made him feel better or worse.
"Any chance we skip the beer and go straight to the moonshine?"
no subject
Skipping to the moonshine was a legitimate request, things being what they were. Raylan had been itchy for days after being disarmed; he knew the comfort of a side piece, of any piece that would keep them safe. He still itched for it - there was no help for the curse of skill they both had. He knew everything he'd end up telling Tim was gonna be taken on faith until Mathis proved her ways to the man, but the moonshine would be vital to it all being taken down.
"You didn't finish what you were sayin'." Go on Tim, give him some context.