villagememes | test drive

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.

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"Not entirely sure, no." He barely hides his surprise at all the blood on the other, eyes raking over him when he's close enough to see if there are other wounds he should be concerned about.

"Though, I don't recall being in any kind of near death state before this. Your state on the other hand makes me truly question it." The man isn't dressed in any common equipment or clothes, but he hasn't mentioned the flame in his hand, so maybe magic isn't unusual to him? He douses the green beacon in favor of trying to pull from the spiritual energies around them.

"I can help a little, but I don't know how bad off you are." He draws in a breath and with a flourish casts a ring of glowing symbols and lines under their feet in a circular pattern. There is a warm, welling and healing energy that flows through the both of them in his shield, it should slow the onset of nausea but won't remove it. As for his wounds, it may not close them entirely but it should stop the bleeding and alleviate some of the discomfort and pain.

"We should try to get out of this fog and find shelter. Are you alright to walk on your own or would you like to lean on me?" He could really, really use his staff right about now, but unfortunately he doesn't have it. He's saving his potions just in case, he has a feeling this place won't have them or things to brew more.

The weird green light is really just adding to the whole maybe death thing, and, well. Maybe Billy's never seen that shit up close but it wasn't too long ago that aliens invaded New York City and now Tony Stark flies around in a metal suit while a guy dressed as a fetish devil beats up criminals. What's a little magic light?

"I can walk."

Billy's never had to lean on anyone in his life, not by choice, and he's sure as well not going to start now. Besides, how far can shelter or some sort of civilization be?

(Unless he's dead and he's literally doomed to walk around this foggy shithole for eternity.)

"Do you know which way?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," He resists the urge to say that he 'hasn't the foggiest inkling' of a direction. Considering the man's state, or even their rather dismal situation, the pun likely wouldn't be taken as warmly as intended.

"The Ocean was back the way I came, so if we keep pushing forward, surely there must be something ahead."

"Makes sense," he huffs out. He sounds annoyed, because he is, but not at the stranger trying to help him. Honestly? If Billy knew there was an ocean back one way, he'd make the same statement.

"Do you know ... Which way you came from?"

Because Billy can't figure out which way is left or right currently, even if he held up his hands to make a stupid L and backwards L shape with his fingers.

There's a lengthy pause as the other questions whether he has any idea which way the ocean is or if he can make heads or tails of left or right in this fog. Which, he can't, if he's honest but the annoyance in the other's tone has his usual snappy sarcasm bubbling up.

"Look, if a demon or one of those spirits happens to decide we look like good fun to murder, then I can maybe defend us with my magic. I do not have the ability to see through dense, poisonous fog." That's a no.

"Lets just pick a direction and start walking, it's better than standing here asking questions neither of us have the answer to. Besides, I don't think you'll last on your feet for much longer." His healing will keep the other upright, but he honestly has no idea how bad his wounds are. He just sees a ...well, a mess. Mostly on his face and his magics are extremely limited and weaker than normal. Which is as frustrating as this fog.

"Sure."

At least if he's walking, he doesn't have to think about how his head feels like it's about explode or implode or shatter. Billy decides to ignore the fact that the guy's just as turned around as he is and makes the executive decision to just start walking in the direction that's apparently opposite of the ocean.

"If this is one of those things where I just walk for the rest of eternity, I'm gonna be really pissed off."

Dorian sighs softly and starts moving in the direction he assumes is away from the ocean and towards what he hopes should be shelter, somewhere. Even if they manage to end up in some dense trees or really anything other than the fog would be a relief. The healing shields will likely wear off sooner rather than later, but for now they are holding, keeping them at a place where at least the effects of the fog aren't getting worse. He still feels the edges of nausea though.

"If it's any consolation I don't think this is some kind of after death or purgatory. At least, it's not anything like what I would have expected." He tries to reassure, "I'm fairly certain I did not die."

He glances to his travel companion, something softer finding its way into his tone. "What happened to you? Did something attack you?"

"No, I woke up like this."

Billy wonders if the guy's just trying to be tactful, but, come on. He's pretty sure his face looks like it went across a cheese grater. But he recognizes that this isn't the sort of situation where he can go Lone Wolf, so he rolls his neck a bit and takes in a deep breath, followed by an exhale.

"Yeah. Sort of. Got into a fight with a sick son of a bitch, you know?"

"Maker's breath, I can't say I blame you for the fowl mood then." He can barely imagine waking up in such a state, in a completely alien place just lost in a fog that makes you sick.

"Apologies I can't seem to do much more for your state, at the moment. I'm not sure how far my magics will last us and I'm trying to preserve the energy. At least you should be feeling somewhat more energized for the time being." He has some potions, but at this rate, he'd rather save them for an emergency. Who knows when he could find some or make some again.

"And as far as sick sons of bitches go, I have had my fair share." His father is the first to come to mind of course, but Corypheus is certainly up there, among others.

"Sorry, I'm Dorian, by the way. I suppose this sort of situation is easy to forget your manners."

"You never met a guy like this," he mutters in reply.

Billy decides to ignore the magics comment. He realizes it's probably real, all things considered, but it's pretty low on his list of priorities right now. Still, he lets the man - Dorian - keep talking. Some people need to talk. Billy's not one of them, but he's not gonna tell the guy to shut up, either.

"Billy." Because he hasn't actually said his name yet. "At least it really breaks the ice."

"Quite an assumption." He muses but shrugs, "I suppose there are all kinds, no one asshole is alike and I'm sure you've never met ones like those I have dealt with."

He can feel his magics waning, slipping from his fingers. It's frustrating and he's hoping they'll get to shelter soon. He swears he sees a looming, large structure in the fog ahead and picks up the pace some.

"Well, Billy, I'm certain it would be a pleasure if it'd been under different circumstances. And I don't know about you but I hope the place we find has something hard to drink."

test drive — spring

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