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.
Locations: Grey Gull.
He looked up at the sound, but his faint curiosity turned to concern.
“You’re new, right?”
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"Maker's breath," He lays a hand over his sternum, "and here I thought I was alone here."
He blinks, looking him over a moment, "You are real, correct?"
Not some demon or spirit playing at being corporeal. "But yes, I suppose you could say, I'm new."
Was it that obvious? Though now that he's looking at the other he is dressed in a way he's not accustomed to.
"Is it always so cheery here?" He wanders over to the bar, eying whatever might be around for drinking.
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"Moonshine? Color me curious." He states, moving around behind the bar to find said unmarked bottles. He's glancing at the clear liquid then uncorks it for a whiff. He wrinkles his nose a little but decides it suits the occasion. He'll find a glass or two, glancing to his companion.
"Shall I pour you one as well? I don't want to be rude." He considers treating it like whiskey, just a little at time.
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"None for me, thank you," he says, tilting his head towards his tea. "I'm good."
He watches the man for a moment.
"My name is Malcolm," he says. "Malcolm Bright."
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Not that that seems to stop him as he'll take a swig anyway. He actually does lose a little of his composure, coughing at the heavy hit of the burning sensation on his throat.
"Vishante Kaffas!" He coughs a little more, clearing his throat, though his voice is still taught when he speaks. "Is Sara here? Did she do this? It's awful."
It tastes like something she could've likely brewed in an old shoe or something she got from her friends. But, it does the trick and he finds, despite himself, he's drinking more.
"Sorry, right, how rude of me. I'm Dorian." He clears his throat again, wincing a little. "Dorian Pavus. A pleasure, I'm sure."
He finishes the glass and shakes his head."At least now you know the name to write on my grave marker if this stuff kills me. I would prefer something in marble, perhaps a lovely statue in my likeness."
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“The cowboys make the moonshine,” he explains. “It hasn’t killed anyone yet. And some people have really tried to find that toxicity threshold.” He looks over. “But if you succeed, I do know someone who can do a fabulous likeness in oil paint.”
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He pours another glass of moonshine despite how rough the stuff was going down. It's settling rather nice and warm in his stomach though and will likely go to his head soon enough.
"There are quite a few new terms you're introducing me to, but I suspect by the looks of this place, there is quite a lot I'm unfamiliar with." He motions to the records the other is browsing through.
"That device for instance, or those sleeved disks you hold. I've never seen something like that before. What is it for?"
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"It's for playing music," he explains. He cocks his head slightly. "You're not from Earth, are you?" He's met one other person here that wasn't from Earth, but she's gone now.
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To the mention of a place called Earth he chuckles a little dryly. So this is another place entirely then... it's no surprise, but still a little stifling to think about.
"No, I come from a world called Thedas." He sips the beverage and only wrinkles his nose a little. It's getting much easier to tolerate. For as much as he complains about bad or cheap alcohol, he tends to drink a lot of it because it really does do the trick when necessary. This was necessary.
"Is this place Earth?" A pause, a little bit of a flourish with his hand to indicate ALL OF THIS. "Is this normal?"
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Superstition starts playing.
At the questions, Malcolm glances around and gives a shrug. "It's very Earth-like here. I don't know that I'd go so far as 'normal'. Is your planet very different? ...Apart from the... people with the... horns?"
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"How marvelous." He's got a lot of questions, like how that disk can play music? what kind of magic is this? Is it magic? How do they get the sounds onto it?
He pulls himself out of his thoughts to listen to Malcolm answer his questions and considering his own answers.
"Well, as I've yet to really explore this world much, I can't really say to whether it's very different as a whole. The architecture and much of what I've seen seems a bit more advanced and different from what I'm used to, yes. The unsettling fog and spirits wandering about is a bit more par for the course, but that's about all. I'm glad to see there's at least vague similarities." Motioning to the bar, even if it is sadly lacking in spirits (the drinking kind).
"Depending on how much time you have I'm sure I could go on for hours and we could compare notes." This is mostly said as a joke, as he's sure this young man has much better things to do.
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He's grinning all the while, unusually relaxed, though the moonshine definitely helps. "I'm glad I could provide a break in the monotony."
A joke, of course, he's certain with the uncomfortable fog there comes plenty of other unsavory things that keep all the residents on their toes. "Music, where I'm from, is typically played and sung by bards. Many songs are stories being told to music. Or simply played for atmosphere and dancing."
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"Sorry, I suppose, if there is a library somewhere with that information I could always look it up." He clears his throat, realizing his fascination could be slaked in private with a good book. There are more important questions.
"Do you know why we are here?"
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"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.
"What is your theory?"
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There's a long pause as he thinks, "well, if their intent is to observe us then, perhaps there is something they want us to accomplish? Like rats in a maze, surely there must be cheese?"
He clears his throat, "that is a poor analogy. The fog is a clear deterrent, you can't stay out in it for long periods of time, but if it recedes we can explore, yes?"
He sips his moonshine. "Not the Ocean then, but perhaps the Chasm? Can we see the other side? Are there any ruins of a bridge or pathway that once spanned across it? Because if so, I may be able to help. Though I'll admit, thus far my magic is very limited and I can't promise the results will be satisfactory."
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