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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As tedious as exploring is, it's necessary--the Darkling doesn't much care for anything the town has to offer, from the strange technology, to the lingering fog, to the residents themselves, though he keeps all of that to himself. He'd been told that the fog comes and goes, but the side effects that are the same, and his nose wrinkles at the mere thought of it. He'd rather it dissipate entirely.

He finds his way to the other out of idle curiousity. The need to walk, the need to survey, and more importantly, the need to feel like he's doing something. Going somewhere with a purpose. He's a man of patience, so long as his goals are practical and can be achieved, and at the moment, they're nothing but a vague mishmash of ideas. They all have something in common, however: The Darkling wants to survive. He refuses to do otherwise. So explore it is.

Exploring at least scratches that itch, or pretends as such. He finds his way into a building, heading towards a rather large meeting hall just in time to see a rather fantastic display of what can only be described as small science.

It's magnificent. Beautiful, even, but he waits, patient in the doorway, calm and collected.

"It's far more difficult to use one's gifts here. Are you Grisha?"

The voice echoes slightly in the wide meeting hall and he'll straighten up, turning to take in the tall, dark and handsome stranger. He swipes a hand through his hair to set his impeccable quiff back into place and wipe the sweat from his brow. He tugs at his robes to straighten himself out from the work out he's given himself, trying to at least look the part of 'as put together as one can be in an completely alien time and place.'

"I'm afraid I'm unfamiliar with that term." He starts, "Back home I'd be called a lot of things, a Mage, an Apostate, that evil Tevinter Magister, which is entirely untrue. I'm not a Magister, I'm an Altus, but..." Not denying the Evil part it seems. He clears his throat, clearly this place has filled him with some nervous energy. He does like to hear himself talk entirely too much, it's comforting.

"I digress. What is a Grisha?" Besides the obvious, anyway.

It's a lot of words he doesn't understand, and he ignores the slight sting of annoyance as the other goes on. It's not his fault--the Darkling is used to a world where things simply make sense by virtue of being around for so long. The other may as well be speaking gibberish, though he's sure it's relevant in his world.

A perfect example: he asks what Grisha is. The Darkling's lips quirk upwards into a half-smile, though it's hard to tell what he's amused at, exactly. When his tone speaks, he sounds genial enough.

"One who can channel matter into something else. Though I've not seen fire and lightning and ice done by just onw person." It's fascinating.

"I take it, that is what you are?" He's making a guess just off of what he'd said prior that it was 'difficult for one to use their gifts' which sounded more like a shared experience.

"And if so, I am curious to see what you are capable of. I have yet to meet someone who has similar abilities."

The Darkling's smile is soft, barely one at all as he looks at the other, shaking his head. "It takes an immense strain on me, but yes," he says simply, softly. Apologetic. It's a half lie: as much as he'd love to share, he's opting for being very, very careful. He doesn't move from his spot where he'd been watching, fascinating.

"You throw your gifts around like you fight--self defense?"

"No, of course, you don't have to show me unless you ever feel inclined. But since I can do fire, ice, lightning, etc, and the Grisha only know one specialty, then what is yours?" Surely he could mention an element or a type? But if the other declines he won't push.

There's a soft chuckle at the idea he 'throws' the magic around, "Ah, yes, I suppose you could say that. It's far more controlled than it sounds or likely seems at the moment. I'm used to having a staff in my hands to help focus and direct the energy."

A little show can't hurt, he supposes, though The Cut should be reserved for something else, what's a small display of power? He curls his fingers, and in a matter of seconds, the room dims considerably: enough to see, but shadows grow, stretch and devour, much like the fog outside.

Dimming the light is considerably easier than commanding them to do much more.

"Shadows," he says softly. "You need something to focus? An amplifier?"

Dorian's not sure what he's expecting at first, but as the lights dim his eyes widen and he looks around the room to see the shadows spread and deepen, darkening the edges around them. He's fascinated by it, curious how far the other's control of the shadows extends. What else can he do with them? Of course, he'd love to pry, ask all kinds of questions, but the other was already hesitant to do this much. He had said it was taxing on him, after all. Dorian is certainly exhausted from his own display and practice, so he wonders how powerful the other is with his specialty.

"Marvelous." He smiles softly at the other, that same intrigued spark in his eye. "Yes, in a way. The staves are weapons in their own right, but they can be modified with various materials or gems to help amplify our power and give some beneficial bonuses."

He turns a wrist, waggling his fingers in fluid tutting, and lets a little green flame alight on his palm. It glows brightly through the lingering shadows creeping in around them. "I'm still quite capable of doing my magics, but they would be stronger, more honed with a staff."

Magic, he says, mages, he says, and the room's darkness retracts slightly--it's still dim, his power still in effect, but the other can at least see better. Not that he has to, with that green flame. An interesting colour. An interesting man.

"Impressive. Is it always that colour, Mr...?" He's fishing for an introduction, brow raised, though his gaze is more on the little bit of flame. The fact that he needs a staff is just as intriguing.

"Depends on what I use it for." He says, turning his hand again to close his fingers around the flame and snuff it out.

"Sorry, I've forgotten my manners. The name is Dorian. No mister needed." Curious he'll approach the other slowly so as not to seem like a threat. In fact, when he gets near enough he'll offer him a hand in greeting.

"And you are?"

The Darkling offers his hand without hesitation, taking it, his own grip firm.

"Kirigan," he introduces, nodding as the other answers. It's fascinating to him, how the other's talents differ. It's not the first time it's happened in this village but it's rare enough that the Darkling is taking careful note.

"I'd say it's a pleasure to meet you, but given the circumstances, I'm sure you're just as irritated as all of us." There's almost a smile, thin and dripping with disdain, but there.

His own grip, still a little warm from the flame, is equally firm but welcoming and not flexing in threat.

"Likewise." The corner of his lips quirk up in a small smile, mustache curling just so.

"And yes, more frustrated with my magics being difficult of course, but I do have a lot of questions that seem to have no real answers." He sighs.

"I'm only glad I don't seem to be alone here, and with such lovely company to boot." A slight quirk of a brow at the other and a lightly flirtatious remark. He can't help himself, Kirigan is very handsome after all. He's also very, very interesting. Two of his favorite things in a man.

Edited 2021-05-21 15:45 (UTC)

test drive — spring

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