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
It's Alina. His sun summoner has returned.
The book closes with a soft thud, and Kirigan sets the tome on the shelf without looking at it. He moves a few steps forward, back straight, chin high, gaze fixated. His kefta is clean but torn from the events of the Fold, still elegant, the lines of his uniform making him look far more imposing than he already does. And you're supposed to be pliant, he wants to say, the words bubbling up in his throat as he stares, moving another step closer. Something different comes out when he speaks. ]
And you're here. [ It's difficult to tell if his lips have turned into a smirk or a pained smile. His eyes narrow. When had she arrived? It's clear she hadn't been hiding, not with how she had frozen. Is she scared? ]
no subject
She hadn't had time to fully wrap her mind around the full facets of his betrayal, how deep that broken trust ran in the fragile friendships she'd made. The realization of how much she was truly willing to give to the man she'd believed to be as lonely as her. The wedge he'd attempted to drive between herself and Mal, regarding her as nothing more than a pawn in his grand scheme -- a source of power to bolster his own. Her power. He'd fed on her insecurities and told her exactly what she needed to hear, and in her naivety, she'd let him. She'd let everyone. Honied words hiding the true danger of the Black Heretic and his followers.
Somehow, she holds her ground as he approaches -- too stubborn or too stunned to turn tail and run. Or painfully aware that there's nowhere to run. He's still striking, still overwhelming. Still infuriating. That stupid smirk -- she didn't want him to be happy to see her. Even if it looked forced. She'd have given him practically anything he'd have asked for, if only he'd left the final choice to her. She could have loved him. The air around her is heavy as her expression softens into something sadder. Pity, perhaps. Or grief for those he'd lashed out at, the lives lost because of his anger.
Enough of a reminder to draw her out of her own thoughts, on guard to step out of reach if he gets too close. They were trapped here together, for better or for worse, but that hardly meant she had to forgive him. He was still dangerous, the soft thrum of his power tangles with hers. ]
A continuation of a cruel joke, I'm sure. [ There's an edge of hurt behind her words, gaze fixed and unblinking as she stares at him. Punishment for her choices, for being the one to burn the maps and set off a chain of events she could never rectify. Lives she could never bring back. Her eyes flicker in the direction of the book he'd been looking at before settling back on his face, unable to catch the title from here. Unwilling to try and pass him thereby possibly inviting physical contact. But also unwilling to leave quite so quickly. Telling herself that she needed to know if he was up to anything before allowing him to harm anyone here. ]
Looking for a new story to weave into your own to garner the sympathy of strangers?
tw real bad violent thoughts whoops
He takes one more step but stops after that: they're both just out of reach of each other, though the urge to grab at her throat is overwhelming. There's a need for control, a need for revenge. Some sort of punishment for her betrayal. The thought of using his powers, of summoning the shadows of this library to do his bidding flickers across his mind, however weak his abilities are here.
The urge ebbs once he reminds himself that Alina is a naive child. She has power, unimaginable--even here, if hers are dampened as well, she can still accomplish great things. He also reminds himself of his situation, their predicament, the fact that if she does die than he will be alone in the truest sense. His lips part, hands moving to clasp in front of him. It looks like it's a comfortable gesture, his posture precise, but he's resisting the urge to lash out. He's restraining himself.
He needs her. There's still something in him, some flicker of emotion: he thinks he might still care, despite everything. ]
Information, actually. [ His voice is as smooth and as soft as ever. ] Where have you been hiding from me, Sun Summoner?
no subject
She was a fool.
Studying the restraint in his face, it doesn't take much thought to glean a surface level of what he's hiding... Given how things had ended. She waits for the parted lips to curl into a warning snarl, but it doesn't come. Or that's what she'd thought before he opened that minacious mouth. ]
And why would I tell you that?
[ There was no point in being honest that there'd been no effort on her part to avoid him, not having even realized he was here. But, apparently, her interests in laying low, writing notes to herself, and starting once again on letters to Mal that might never reach him had been effective. ]
Just... Stay away from me.
[ She takes another step back, edging back towards the corner she'd rounded to retrace her steps out of the library. Alina was too vulnerable right now, the weight of feeling truly alone again crippling. She was in no mood to deal with honied words eager to lull her into some false sense of security. And yet -- she hadn't turned away from him yet, something in her painfully aware that she wouldn't be able to avoid him forever. Mal's voice echoes in the back of her mind, screaming for her to run, but the rational part of her knew it was pointless. They might as well get this over with now, whatever that meant. ]
no subject
[ He doesn't move from his spot, though his jaw moves, relaxing somewhat as his dark gaze remains on Alina. She has a right to be wary of him, he knows. She has a right to feel betrayed, to not trust him--but everything he's stood for, how far he's gotten, he doesn't regret a single thing. Everything was nessecary.
Alina will see that. He's sure of it. Now that they're only here, now that her tracker friend is nowhere to be seen, he knows she'll come around. ]
We're the only two Grisha in this entire village, and you'd rather we keep our distance from each other?
no subject
But in the immediate, she knew he was right. From her brief time here so far, the idea of Ravka had apparently been as foreign as the Fold. There was no time to feel the grief at the loss of Mal again, or to stubbornly stand her ground. He didn't have the same level of influence here that he had at home. If there was a time to fight for equal footing between them, this was it. They needed to talk about Novokribirsk before she agreed to anything. There was no Fold here to expand, but that didn't mean he was harmless. She didn't know if he could create another one, or what he was truly capable of right now. ]
That depends -- are you planning on murdering everyone here, too, if things don't go your way?
no subject
His voice is soft, pointed. Think, girl. ] I have no concern about or for otkazat’sya, so long as they don't interfere with us. [ The word comes easily to him for its duality in meaning: a non-grisha, or an orphan. A purposeful use for Alina, the little girl from Keramzin. He straightens. ]
I am not the tyrant you think I am. Not now. Not here.
no subject
It's almost enough to distract her from the 'us'.
The softness that had started seeping through the cracks of her foundation hardens, making the choice to test the resolve of his belief of what he is. Or rather, what he's not. Matching his intensity with her own. ]
Then you'll agree that we are equals here. No more games, no more lies or half-truths Aleksander.
[ And much like his choice to use otkazat’sya, she chooses to use his first name. A remnant of a connection they used to have before that trust was shattered. Before he'd shown his true intentions and his desire to control. A call back to a time when she'd thought she'd finally found a place for herself before it was all ripped away. Genuinely, she's still not sure she'd have run if the truth had come from him instead of his mother. And now they'll never know. ]
no subject
Alina as an equal. The Darkling looks down at her, face impassive, stoic. Perhaps Alina is actually learning--perhaps he'd been incorrect a few moments ago. He's impressed. A small part of him is proud, even. ]
And what will you tell them of us, when the subject comes up? [ What will you tell of him, he means, eyes narrowing. ]