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
There's a silent reminder to herself to not repetitively apologize, Mal's voice somewhere in the back of her mind telling her that she was doing him the favor here. She grounds herself once he settles, swallowing down anything else trying to bubble out, pressing questions of what happened spiraling with her own guesses. Especially once she reaches his cheek. All self-control goes out the window, concern etching its way back onto her face as her brows knit. ]
You were shot.
[ She didn't mean to say it out loud, clearly aware that he had to know what happened. Didn't need her stating it back in his face. Clearing her throat, she attempts to gloss over her lack of tact. ]
Are you injured anywhere else?
no subject
Stabbed.
[ He gestures to his stomach, wondering how he isn't dead yet. ]
Not the first time for either. Sorry if it bothers you.
no subject
[ Though that doesn't ease some of the horror of it, the weight not as burdensome when it's not tied directly to her actions or inactions. Rallying through that striking thought will have to wait. ]
Let me get some fresh water and try and find something for the pain.
[ She vaguely remembers seeing some herbs in the kitchen, dumping out the water, and quickly rinsing out the bowl before raiding the cabinets for the collection of herbs. Alina lets out a sound of relief when she drags a worn-down mortar and pestle, creating the best version of Ana Kuya's poultice she can manage, the memory of doing this for Mal not too long ago fresh on her mind.
After a few moments, she returns to the table with the bowl before making a second trip from the kitchen, giving the concoction in the mortar bowl a few more grinds before setting it down and returning her attention to the stranger -- reaching to help him lift his shirt if he hasn't taken it off already. ]
I'm Alina, by the way.
no subject
[ He wants to make more of a joke, about skipping dinner and going right to it as she reaches for his shirt. He knows that she's doing it to check the wound, and, honestly, he's not really in the mood for flirting (as shocking as that is), but the instinct is there.
Instead, he just lifts it for her, grunting a bit and trying to tell himself he's been through worse. He hasn't, but he's a good liar, maybe he can get it to work on himself this one time. ]
Billy. Nice to meet you.
no subject
[ Pulling the pestle out once his shirt is off, it clunks slightly against the table as she moves it out of the way -- letting a corner of her lip turn up at the quip. ]
Something to help with the pain and healing, although I'm missing a few ingredients.
[ Alina re-wets one of the cleaner of the cloths, settling on her knees by the chair. ] I added some extra clove. [ As if that will just Make Sense. On top of the clove, the scent of earthy greens, ginger, tumeric, and other less fragrant herbs fill the space between them.
She starts wiping away blood on his stomach, her brows knit with focus as Alina attempts to keep her pressure even and light. Easier said than done. One enough has been cleared away, she looks up at him -- another apology on the tip of her tongue. ]
This might sting a bit.
[ As gently as she can, she dips her finger into her mixture, pressing it carefully onto the surface of the wound, reflexes ready to pull back if he flinches or grabs for her again. ]
no subject
[ All the same, he braces himself, clenching his jaw.
He doesn't really buy into all the hippie, environmental healing shit, but beggars can't be choosers. Maybe later he can find an actual doctor, assuming the bouillon she whipped up doesn't cause some sort of infection. Last thing he needs is to die from gangrene or whatever the hell he'll get. ]
You ever used this on someone before?
no subject
Yes, learned to make it as a child. [ She leaves out the fact that she often got herself into fights, usually with people bigger than herself, or run off into meadows and climbed over things someone in a dress shouldn't. ] Orphanages aren't exactly the most gentle of places in Ravka.
[ Especially when they were being prepared to join a war that started long before any of them had been born -- a war that had impacted most of them. Had created hatred and prejudices too large for a child to understand or work through, simplified into an 'us versus them' mentality. ]
no subject
[ Billy nods a bit, then sucks in a breath because, yeah, that shit stings. He exhales heavily through his nose. ]
Me too. Grew up in a couple shitty homes before I was old enough to get out. Where's Ravka?
[ He likes to consider himself pretty worldly, but he's never heard of Ravka before. Maybe it's some small town or something somewhere. Sounds Eastern anyway. ]
no subject
[ She says it like it's common knowledge, Alina not quite worldly enough to fully understand the idea of someone not knowing. Even in a strange world. It was starting to sink in, though -- especially now that it's calmed a bit and he still hasn't shoved her away for being half Shu. She's still a bit on guard, however, just in case.
Lifting herself up, she checks his back to see if the stab wound went all the way through or if there's anything else that needs immediate attention. ]
Never heard your accent before, where are you from anyway? [ And because it felt rude to talk to a stranger's back, she shifts back around to get a good look at his face -- assessing to see if anything else needed tending to. ]
no subject
New York.
[ Considering how well she speaks English, he's a bit surprised she's never heard something as American as his voice before. But, hey, this is wild times, right? ]
no subject
So this had to be some other form of cruel trickery. ]
It's not possible--
[ Her posture shifts to something more defensive as she takes another step back, hands instinctively moving, ready to summon. ]
How do you wear his face?
no subject
But then she says that, and while Billy is still bristling about her reacting to his face, he has to ask - ]
Whose face?