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
You... don't know whose blood, do you? Are they alright? [ He doesn't hear anyone else in the room. Just his own heart in his ears and the subtle shifting of heavy fabrics on the other. Yet it feels like there is still another, watching. It's similar to the feeling of being on stage before a performance, when the audience has gone completely silent, only the silence goes on... and on... silent staring, staring...
He tries to push the building anxiety from his mind and refocus. There could be someone injured nearby. ]
If they should need a healer I can- [ He stops himself again, remembering how attempting to cast a simple cantrip in the mist hadn't worked earlier. Of mists and ghosts and calm-voiced strangers and bloody bulletin boards, the loss of magic is the most terrifying thing about this place so far. His voice drops to almost a whisper. ]
Actually I don't think I would be of much help with that right now.
no subject
[ They should move soon, he thinks, and casts another glance about the room. The unmistakable feeling of being watched aside, if there's information he can get and will prove useful, it's likely to stay there given the low population. His eyes move to the staff again, reaching into a pocket in his shirt behind the Kefta, taking a small black handkerchief and rubbing the blood from his hand. ]
...Perhaps we should discuss this elsewhere. Alone. I don't much care for the thought of being watched.
[ Does he other feel it, too? ]
no subject
[ He's no cleric, but healing word is always a useful spell for any magic user to have under their belt. Even there is no immediate need for it now, it would be nice to still be able to cast it, or any spell for that matter. Perhaps then he could tell for certain where this feeling of being watched is coming from.
His ears twitch when the other mentions noticing it too. So it's not coming from him. Gildor isn't sure if that's a relief or another reason to worry. ]
Agreed. [ Hushed. Then- ] Do you... know of anywhere to go?
[ He's only found wide open spaces filled with disorienting mists so far, and the thought of going back into them so soon is not an appealing one. ]
no subject
He moves, peering at the exit before taking a few steps forward, listening to see if the other knows (or hears) enough to follow. He thinks for a moment more before speaking up again, eyeing the staff. ]
May I offer you my arm?
no subject
Thank you, but I can keep up. [ There is a tone of genuine gratefulness in his answer, but also a strong air of confidence. It covers up the fear. Fear of this place, this stranger, of the not knowing. Besides, if he took the offered arm, the other might feel how his nerves are making him tremble or how his heart is still beating hard in his veins.
Gildor pushes the end of his staff forward again, following just behind. When he steps outside, the dark staff remains just as pitch black as it was before, as though entirely untouched by light. It carves a rigid dark line like an inky pen stroke from his hand to the ground. ]
I try not to fall into the arms of strangers so quickly, you see. [ His voice lightens to a more casual cadence as they leave the building and the oppressive air within. Another tactic to push the fear back. ] What is your name? Are you from here?
[ Wherever 'here' is. ]