test drive — autumn

[villagemod]

test drive — autumn
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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.

Since not all setting details have been made available yet, you are welcome to invent your own general locations for this test drive. There are no living souls in Mathias Township beyond the player characters. In fact, there are no signs of life at all... We hope you enjoy your visit.

( Recommended listening: ♫ )



— the fog —

It moves in quickly and without warning, not from the waterfront but the forest, cascading through every street in a thick wave of white. The fog is not a soft blanket enveloping the town, but a heavy weight pressing down, threatening to suffocate the sky is blotted out and you can see no further than your outstretched hand.

Those outside when it rolls in are left wandering blind, stumbling toward shelter as you're unable to even see your feet beneath you, let alone any obstacles in your path. Perhaps you call out for help, hoping for another voice to guide you toward shelter or simply another living soul. Or perhaps you were lucky enough to already be inside when the fog descended, quickly closing doors and windows to keep it from creeping in. Can you hear those voices crying out? You recognize some, but the others... Are they really there at all, or are you alone here and simply beginning to finally lose your mind?

And perhaps the most important question: Do you answer?



— portents —

You wake up with an ache in your head and a cloudiness to your thoughts, your body sprawled on the ground in a location you don't remember going to. As you sit up, the world spins and start to clutch your head — to realize there's something on your hand. A symbol, a word, a streak of wet paint or ink. You don't recognize it or have any memory of how it got there...

Or how the much larger depiction came to be on the wall or the floor around them. You can see it shining wet in the glow of whatever light source is nearest, but something instinctual urges you not to touch it. If you defy that urge, it burns, a searing pain that radiates from the matching mark on your hand.

Did you do this? Or was it done to you? The person approaching may have answers — or accusations.



— past deeds —

The Town Hall stands at the center of Mathias Township, a modest two-story building that would be welcoming if not for the faded sign, chipped paint, and deafening silence. 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 your attention is a large bulletin board on the main wall, once meant to hold flyers or announcements for the community.

What it holds now is decidedly different. Tacked onto the board is a torn scrap of paper with words scrawled almost illegibly in dark red ink.

why did this happen

Upon close examination, a keen eye will realize that the ink is actually blood, though whether it is human is unknown. And beside that scrap, a symbol has been drawn in dark black marker — it resembles a feather or a branch, but you've never seen anything like it before. It scares you even as you know it is perhaps the most important thing you have ever seen in your life.

On the floor below the bulletin board are more scraps of paper scattered amongst grime and dust, most blank but some with other strange symbols scrawled in a variety of inks, perhaps matching the pens and markers scattered near the baseboard. Some are small enough that they might have once been part of the same page, creating something larger. And to the far side, a pristine stack of crisp white copy paper and an unopened box of ballpoint pens.

What do you do?



code bases by tricklet

Comments

Lorna Dane | Marvel Comics 616

[geomagnetically]

(ooc; feel free to respond in brackets if that's more your thing)

---

« THE FOG »
A woman dressed in a lot of green (which matches her hair, eyes, and lips), is wandering the fog, somewhere on the edge of lost, aimlessly, and confused.

"Hello? Anyone else out here nearby?" She calls out, hoping someone can hear her, as she uselessly tries to squint and see through the fog. It's fine, this is fine.

Spoilers: It's not even a little bit fine.

« PORTENTS »
When she wakes up (yes, still very green), she sits up far too fast and makes herself even more dizzy and disoriented than she already was. So, she draws her knees up and rests her forehead on them, curled around herself.

"Holy fuck." She mutters to herself, taking a few deep breaths, trying to get her bearings. A few seconds later, she tries to stand up, but winds up nearly falling over onto the person closest to her.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I'm having a whole time here, apparently."

« AND NOW YOU'RE DEALING WITH A WILDCARD »
Hit me with anything!

portents

[40seconds]

Coulson's been having a day with all the cold and the darkness and just the general uncertainty of not knowing where they are (aside from a name) and what might be coming next for them, but he also knows that other people are having just as much of a hard time as he is.

That makes him feel more likely to reach out, even when he doesn't feel like it, because they're all in the same boat here.

When he passes by someone new (at least, he hasn't seen them before), he attempts to smile by way of greeting them, but suddenly she's tipping over, nearly falling over onto him.

"Hey, be careful!" He reaches out to try and steady her even before he knows what he's doing. It's just instinct, because if someone's falling, you just catch them. "Are you all right?" Clearly she isn't, if she nearly fell, but there's varying levels of "not all right", and he can't be sure where she falls on that scale.

the fog;

[sagaciouselle]

There's another woman in not quite as much color, with short blonde hair and a sword drawn, standing not too far from where Lorna has found herself, narrowing her eyes at the fog that surrounds them.

"Yes," she replies to Lorna's question but doesn't move any further immediately. Instead, she counts to five before turning in place, the edge of her sword dragging in a circle around her.

"What kind of blessed place is this?"

portents (lorna!!!)

[revvedup]

She's not the only one who's been having a rough time. Max has been trying in vain to navigate the fog and even after a few days worth of exploring the town, she still finds herself getting lost. The disorientation definitely doesn't help in that department, but she's still trying to figure out what her limitations are in this place (and often goes beyond what they are now).

A woman calls out and it takes her a few minutes to zero in on where she is. It's actually fortunate that she's all in green, it makes her easier to spot, and Max rushes to her side, offering an arm to her.

"Are you okay?" Well, clearly not. But is she hurt, is Max's real question.

thomas richardson — apostle

[unwilt]

001. THE FOG

[ Help! Help me!

Thomas has no idea where he is. The air around him is thick with fog, so dense and compact that he cannot see his own hands when he holds them up ahead of him to feel out any obstacles. He stumbles forward unsurely, at least he thinks it's forward; he has no spatial awareness when the world around him is all pale grey and immutable. Has it always been like this?

Help me! Please!

Mist breaks on his face. There are so many voices calling for assistance, some touching the familiar and others as unknown as where his foot will land with each step, but no matter how far he walks he can't see them, and they never sound as if they're any closer. The urge to crumple and hide until the fog passes gets stronger every time his foot lands, but he knows he cannot. The reasons are not completely clear. He simply knows to move.

Help me, Thomas!

Finally he breaks his self-imposed silence with an almost wild snarl of panic, as the owner of one voice among the tens or hundreds of others finally makes itself known. ] Jennifer! [ Desperation takes his surefootedness. He stumbles, and this time he falls, landing jarringly on his knees. It won't stop him now. Jennifer is here, somewhere, in this pale emptiness, and he will find her. ] Jennifer! Where are you? Call to me!

002. PAST DEEDS

[ This place is strange, but perhaps not for the reasons it intends to be. There's something oppressive about this building and its architecture that Thomas does not like, and the lingering force of stillness makes it so much worse. He gazes at the building suspiciously, his lips drawn into a scowl. A town hall, he can read as much on the sign that adorns its front, but as he's sure others have been before, Thomas is drawn more to the noticeboard and its strange messages in front of it.

He picks up the pens with his good hand – his left is useless, a pincer hanging by his side, possessing only a thumb and index finger while the stumps of his three missing fingers have been wrapped in a bandage – and inspects them carefully, uncapping them, drawing on the back of his palm. When he senses someone nearby he looks up, his gaze piercing. ]

I've never seen paper so white, [ he says, as if this is the most alarming thing, and not the message left in ominously dark red ink on the board, or the symbols scattered around on the ground. ]

003. WILDCARD

[ i'm up for anything! hmu here or at crowders if you want to hash out something else! :^) also, happy to switch to prose if you prefer. ]

[abrightboy]

...What colour is paper where you're from?

[A voice from behind him; a man who's emerged from the offices.]

fog, i love him and this movie.

[torsion]

[ It's hardly immediate, but Jill can hear the voice in the distance. It's muffled over the fog that they've grown accustomed to avoiding. The woods, perhaps, though it's hard to tell fully the distance that the other person may be away from her like this. The fog is thick and pervasive and while she'd say all of this is false, that there's no magic or anything silly like that... there's something inherently wrong with it all. It's not normal or right and defies logic.

Upset. Desperation, maybe. It eats at Jill. She can remember a voice like that, when her partner called her name. It reaches her in a warm sense of empathy, easing over her, coaxing her to offer a hand where she can.

She leaves the comfort of a building, where possibly safe, and once away from it starts to find herself quickly turned around and lost, though she'd like to believe she has an idea of how to return. ]

Hello? Are you lost out there? [ She can only imagine what it must be like if this person was separated from someone ("Jennifer," most likely). They may never find her, not until it goes away. ] Follow my voice. I should be able to lead you somewhere safer.

past deeds;

[volunteertomatoes]

[ It's hard not to look at that hand, harder still when the other says something so out of left field Quentin's pretty sure he mishears it. Paper not being white is strange but ultimately what's stranger is his the fingerless appendage, although Quentin isn't about to say anything about it outright.

For now, at least. Poor guy's new, which means he might be a little overwhelmed, and he's not exactly an old veteran either. ]

Pretty wild where you come from? [ He keeps his tone neutral and friendly, if a little dry. He lifts his brows in a silent greeting. ]

past deeds;

[chuju]

[ Daisy spends a lot of her time trying to comb through the documents left behind in this creepy abandoned town. Without a computer to search, the hacker is close to tearing her hair out, too many hours spent reading permits and receipts and records that reveal none of the patterns she's hoping to find. Everything here looks normal on paper... except for the parts that are abnormally missing.

She's covered in dust when she finishes combing through her fifth (sixth?) office and tosses the final stack of papers down on the desk with a huff. That's enough for today. They're not going anywhere, as they've all started to accept, so the rest can wait until she'd had a few more hours of sleep and a couple cups of coffee in her.

Wandering back out to the front area of the building, she's surprised to see an unfamiliar face there, one who is clearly not used to his surroundings. There's a look on his face, and then what he says about the paper... Combined with the clothes he's wearing, she can only come to one conclusion. ]

What year was it before you woke up here? [ She asks it almost gently, already guessing that the answer will be a long way off from the rest of them who have been brought here.

Walking closer, she leans against the wall beside the bulletin board and crossing her arms. He's not the only one wearing bandages — hers are plain to see beneath the sleeves of her burgundy sweater, long strips of gauze wrapped around her palms and disappearing up her arms. The only parts left uncovered are her fingers, which are covered in mottled bruises. ]

past deeds

[sagaciouselle]

[ The woman in the corner of the room who has been peering at the various bits of paper also (but careful not to touch, not even the pens, and definitely not the blood scrawled note) makes a considerate sound at his comment about the paper. ]

Humans are very clever about some things. The whiteness of paper, for one, I suppose.

ii. past deeds

[hellblaze]

Funny thing about that, isn't it?

[ John is standing in the doorway to the town hall. Rather lazily at that too. Sure, he's taken notice of the missing fingers and the bandage, but well, why bring up the obvious to a sorry sod who is most likely in pain? ]

Most people get all bothered about the scribbles or alarming message that looks like it's written in blood. But, not you, mate. It's the damn color of the paper.

[ Honestly, it's a bit amusing. ]

prudence blackwood | chilling adventures of sabrina | will match format

[sagaciouselle]

→ & the fog rolls in

[ Prudence is caught outside as the fog descends, much too quickly to be natural; she should know, living in a city that is encased in a near-perpetual fog. The fact that it comes away from the coastline is a bit of a surprise as well, but not one she can act upon before it consumes everything her eyes can see.

She freezes, holding her breath for a moment before letting it out with a sigh. ]

Prudence!

[ Hearing her name called like that, here, causes her heart to rise from her chest and settle somewhere in the base of her throat. It sounds like one of her sisters, but she knows that's impossible, or dangerous...one is dead, one's gone mad, the other...

Prudence draws the sword that's been sheathed at her back and turns in a slow circle, metal scraping along the ground. A muttered word and that circle sparks and lights to a low flame around her.

She has no intention of moving. Not yet. ]

→ & portents to tell the future or the past

[ She wakes, disoriented and dizzy. Instead of clutching her head, she rolls onto her side on the floor and takes a few moments to compose herself, to let her vision clear.

Not that what she sees brings any comfort.

surrecturus sit is written on her hand, and on the wall. She knows what it means; no witch worth their salt can't handle a bit of unconjugated Latin, after all, but what she doesn't know is why.

Or where in the hell she is. ]

Well, [ she announces to what she presumes is an empty room. ] I'm awake. Now what?

[ The first person who walks up to her too quietly might end up with a sword drawn and pointed at them. It depends. Find out? ]

→ & past deeds to judge us by

[ Prudence isn't sure what drew her here to the Town Hall, but she's curious. Sometimes centers of government and the like have answers. She walks carefully, taking a closer look at everything without touching anything, wrinkling her nose at the dust and the faded signage. ]

None of this bodes well, [ she announces but continues forward towards the bulletin board. Sniffs the paper, again, without touching it. ] Blood.

[ The feather, or branch, or whatever the symbol is makes her skin crawl a bit but she has no idea what to do with or about it, so instead she focuses on the small torn pieces of a larger drawing or sigil.

Hm. Maybe this, she'll touch. ]

→ & a card of wild design

[ Come at me, boos. ]

portents

[waywardsister]

[ Claire can be loud. In this place, awoken alone with nothing but strange symbols on the wall, she's been quiet. That's how she comes across a woman she doesn't recognize, her steps light, blue eyes hard as they track through the space, looking for trouble.

Finding it, too, though she doesn't know that quite yet.

Can't resist a quip at the question asked to an empty room though, as she pushes the door open a little further. ]

Breakfast, though I think we're shit out of luck on that.

past deeds

[abrightboy]

If being abducted and held against your will didn't already bode ill. [Malcolm had stepped out of the office he was investigating when he heard someone out in the lobby.] Unless that kind of thing is... usual for you.

iii. past deeds

[hellblaze]

Blood usually doesn't bode well, luv.

[ John simply uses that as a way to announce his presence. He steps into the room, lit cigarette in his mouth, careful of the papers on the floor and what not. Ah, yes. Be mindful of where he steps but not the smoke from his cigarette messing with the air. ]

Desperate message? Maybe even a last cry before they disappeared? Not much to go on. Unless you can translate spooky scribble.

past deeds

[fika]

[ five, likely, is the worst person to initiate any sort of welcome.

but the young woman catches his attention as he's passing by the town hall, because he hasn't seen her before. given the limited number of forced residents, he's been keeping track. there's little point in avoiding anyone outright - they're all trapped in the same shit, and even as this town grows, there's a strange sense of obligation that five hadn't stopped to think on too long.

which is why the old-man-turned-young is sidling up to the bulletin board, steaming mug of coffee in hand and snorts when he hears her commentary. ] Tame way of putting it.

[ his mouth thins, a not-quite smile as a formality. ] You're new.

past deeds

[warfares]

( occasionally the town hall is worth visiting. unlike many of the current residents of the town, kylo ren has yet to add a note to the bulletin board. though, he does make a point of stopping by when the fog isn't particularly heavy or when the weather isn't feeling particularly schizophrenic, to see if there have been any worthwhile additions.

today, however, he finds something different.

he doesn't recognize the girl. this, in itself, isn't remarkable. he has been here for some time now and has only met and spoken with a handful of people. no, what interests him is her candour. not only does she recognize the fact that the note is written in blood but appears to be largely unperturbed by it.

how refreshing. ) I wouldn't advise touching it, ( he says by way of greeting, though also makes no move to stop her. )

trevor belmont · castlevania [ ota ]

[ancestralwhip]

i. 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕱𝖔𝖌.

[ well, shit.

trevor comes to a stop the moment he realizes the fog has rolled in around him. odd. it isn't the early morning. no, in fact, it was the dead of night as he took a few steps away from the wagon. another town burned to the ground with the unfortunate souls sacrificed to bring about who humanity thought would be a salvation.

he knew he never liked religion.

the brunette haired man with the scar down his face turns his head one way. then, the other. ]

I knew I should of gone back for that cloak in Gresit...

[ while the new tailored clothes had been nice? he missed the fur lining of his old cloak. they'd been through quite a lot - him and that cloak! maybe he'll find a tailor kind enough to put one together for him.

once he finds his way out of this damn fog. ]

ii. 𝕻𝖔𝖗𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖘.

[ the howls of demons and night creatures are what remind him to get up. move. fight. just because he had been knocked down by that fireball hardly means a thing.

it is in his nature - his very essence.

get up. move. fight. slay the night.

another howl jars him, and trevor belmont pushes himself up. he looks at the darkened room, a light in the distance being the only source. his eyes narrow slightly. there's a heaviness in his body that a simple hit from a demon shouldn't cause. then, he sees it.

the mark on his hand. ]

What the fuck?

the fog

[desypharing]

Oh, come now.

[ She almost feels, for a moment, like she's talking to herself, the fog so heavy and muffling, the voices in it so familiar but so distant. ]

You know you like the new look.

[ Her fingers twitch, but don't summon fire, wind or ice. Sypha is disoriented, but there's one thing that could be a real blessing in disguise in this place... ]

Please tell me you're real.

Billy Kaplan | Marvel 616 | ota

[noassgardian]

I. THE FOG ROLLS IN...

"Um, hello?"

Billy reaches out uselessly in the thick fog that weighs down on him, oppressive and disorienting. No spell he can think of seems to clear it, and he'd be mad to try to wish himself anywhere clear of this mess in a place he doesn't even know.

Well, crap.

"Is anyone else out there?" He can hear it. It sounds distant, a voice from afar that he thinks may be vaguely familiar, but like everything else it's just out of reach. Something he can't put a finger on.

"Can you hang on? I'm coming!" Whether he should or not...

II. PORTENTS

There's a groan as consciousness floods him too quickly for the throbbing in his head. He presses a hand firmly to his forehead and tries to will back the way the world absolutely spins around him. For a moment, he thinks he may end up on the ground again, but somehow he keeps upright. Maybe it's just through sheer stubbornness.

"What the..." He makes a face when he notices the ink staining his skin and brings it down to study it a bit closer. His eyes hardly linger before they dart towards the symbol scrawled on the wall. Well, isn't that... something.

"Well, looks like last night might have been kind of wild... Kind of sucks I don't remember it though."

Now, touching the strange mark is probably objectively a bad idea, but Billy's fingers are going to trace it either way. "Please don't let this be some weird magic or something..."

III. PAST DEEDS COME BACK TO HAUNT

"Oh, bloody messages are always a great sign. All the horror movies tell me so." Billy is muttering to himself as he looks over the bulletin board. They say talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity, don't they? Or second, or third... whatever. He's in a creepy Town Hall, staring down what appears to be blood and scribbles of what could well be a mad man.

Or mad persons?

Now's not the time to worry about his own sanity for once.

He kneels down to gather up the scraps of paper hurriedly, matching some together like pieces of a puzzle. He isn't sure he'll get very far, scattered as everything is, but he seems determined at the moment. Maybe there's a clue in there, or maybe it's all just somebody's grocery list or advertisement. It feels worth a shot either way.

IV. WILDCARD
If there's anything else you'd like to do, toss it at me! I'm game for anything.

The fog

[40seconds]

Honestly, Coulson's had his fill of fog, enough to last him a lifetime, and he hasn't even been here all that long. Sure, it's been long enough for him to know that going outside rarely ends well, and that fog rolling in is not a portent of good things to come.

He's already fallen prey to those voices that whisper and entice, so he's wised up as far as that goes. Others might not be so lucky, which is what's driven Coulson to head outside and into the fog.

"Hey, whoever's out there, can you hear me?" He knows just how persuasive the voices can be, but he hopes he can make himself louder than they are.

Negan | The Walking Dead | ota

[vampirebats]

I. FOG

"Come on now, I have seen some top tier fucking nutso shit in my day, but this is taking the crazy cake." Negan is careful, keeping his ears open for anything that might sound... off, while trying to navigate the heavy fog around himself. His senses feel like they're in overdrive, every noise only building the tension in his shoulders even as he tries to keep tough.

Act like you've got the biggest fucking balls in the room and generally, everybody else falls in line. Doesn't hurt that, generally, his balls are at the top of the goddamn chain.

There's another cry in the distance and he shifts his weight, rolls his shoulders a bit. "Hey, if you need help or whatever... you're gonna have to come closer to me because I can't see for shit right now. Or at least keep talking."

Leaving people behind isn't his thing if he can help it, but what do you do when you can't even see them?

II. PAST DEEDS

"Hey, this place is starting to feel like home already, complete with all the cryptic last words left scrawled behind, like they mean absolute fuck all when the world's ended." Negan grins to himself, although there's less joy in the gesture and something more... resigned. Shithole. This place is a fucking shithole. Just his luck.

He whistles absently as he comes closer to the bulletin board and snatches up some of the fresh paper, a pen. He doesn't write anything yet. No, not yet. He taps the pen idly against the page, looks around.

"Maybe I should leave behind my own little note... not sure it worked out too well for these assholes though, all things considered."

He pauses, squinting. "Why did this happen, huh? Well, let me take a guess..."

He seems to be entertaining himself by scribbling out answers to that question he seems intent on tacking up neatly to the bulletin board, however ill-advised. SHIT ALWAYS HAPPENS, DICKLESS ASSHOLES NOT STAYING IN LINE, SOME TRULY HELLISH SHIT?.

Man, that sure is written in blood, isn't it? Now that he's closer, he can definitely see that. "What's that drawn there?"

III. WILDCARD
If you want to try something else, come at me!

the fog;

[chuju]

How many days have passed since Daisy woke up in this creepy town with its weird weather patterns and dust everywhere? Too many, of course, but it's getting hard to keep track of just how many that is. The stretch of time without sun and lack of properly working clocks made things difficult in a way she wasn't used to, but she's getting there. Unfortunately. A life of dealing with weird on a daily basis means you tend to get the hang of new stuff pretty quickly. So when the fog leaves the forest and decides to just blanket the town—

Well, what better time to go for a walk? Might as well make sure no one's gotten stuck or hurt somewhere.

It's harder to walk with such limited visibility when her powers still aren't working quite the way they should. There's still a buzzing in her bones but it's barely there now, a muted echo that feels like she's been wrapped in a thick layer of cotton. She hates it. She hates even more that she doesn't know whether to blame this place or him.

The sound of someone's voice nearby catches her attention and she turns, moving carefully with slow shuffling steps until suddenly she can see him: an older man, someone she hasn't seen before. A new arrival, probably. She's just glad he's an actual person and not another figment of nightmares come to taunt them all.

"Hey, new guy," she greets him, keeping her hands at her side and as much distance as she can without them losing sight of each other in this mess. It's not much, but at least she's not completely crowding him. "Need some help?"

Klaus Hargreeves | The Umbrella Academy

[bestfuneralever]

The Fog
Klaus has no idea where he is, but exploring his immediate surroundings to figure that out seemed like the best plan of action. His siblings didn’t seem to be around and having done this time jump thing before, now he knows it’s possible they just ended up in different places and points in time and the rest of them probably aren’t dead. That’s a comfort, at least.

He’s wandering through the streets of the town when the fog rolls in, heavy and oppressive, so thick he can barely see where he’s heading now. “All this fog and me with no flashlight. Daddy should have sent me to Boy Scouts so I’d always be prepared!” His voice is light and airy, a joke dropping with sarcasm, as he stumbled his way through the fog.

“Hey! Is there anybody out there?!” He spins, squinting into the fog-dark streets, but as near as he can tell, there’s no one.

---

Past Deeds

The Town Hall seemed as good a place as any to start piecing together something about the weird town he’d found himself, so that’s where Klaus finds himself today. The front entrance seems the same as any number of government-type buildings that he’s seen before, from the front desk and right down to the community pin board.

That’s what actually catches his eye, the single piece of paper with something scrawled across it pinned to the board. “Curiosity killed the cat,” he sing-songs to himself under his breath. “Good thing I’m not a cat.” He smirks to himself and goes over to investigate it.

He frowns at the words, but even deeper for the fact it’s obviously blood. “That’s some serious Murder Magician bullshit right there.”

The Fog

[endlessflask]

Don't freak out, Klaus, but there's suddenly a hand reaching through the fog to grab your arm.

"Come this way."

It's really pure chance that Eliot's been nearby, and that he knows the house he's called dibs on it just a couple meters to the side. Of course, that doesn't mean they'll find it - this fog has a nasty habit of turning one's sense of direction around, but at least they won't be alone.

"Sorry about how absolutely cheesy and heroic that sounded."

The Tenth Doctor | Doctor Who

[likesimpossible]

I. The Fog

The Doctor's seen all sorts of weather in his time, and really, what's a bit of fog, after all? Yes, this fog is very thick, rather soupy even, but it's not the fog itself that's bothering him. Even the voices, as annoying as they are with their persistent whispers, can be explained away and compartmentalized, more or less.

No, the thing that's bothering him is the fact that he hasn't the foggiest idea how he got here or where his TARDIS might be. It's nowhere nearby, at least as far as he can tell.

So, what else is a displaced Doctor to do but wander about, in hopes of finding some sign of his equally displaced (and misplaced, as the case might be) ship?

As he's walking along, he thinks he hears something aside from the whispering voices, something that sounds like a footfall on the ground, and he peers around him, hoping to spot someone through the fog. "Hello, someone there?"

If not, he's more than content to go along on his not-so-merry way, but any company is welcome, even the less than friendly sort.

II. Portents

"Well, now, that's just so very rude." The Doctor's inside now, and he's just managed to sit up, but doing so has just brought on a colossal wave of dizziness and it takes a moment for him to collect himself. "And what's this about, then?" He glances at the curious streak of wet paint on the back of his hand.

He's quite perceptive on a good day, so even though the room still seems to be spinning, it doesn't take him too long to spot the similar streak on the floor, just a few paces away. "Well, look at that, isn't that curious?" Of course, there's a prickle on the back of his neck and an unbidden thought in his mind about not touching the symbol on the floor, and for once, he listens to that warning. He has other things on his mind, after all.

And as luck would have it, his sonic screwdriver is also missing, so he can't really tell anything about the properties of the streak on his hand and on the floor, but what he can do is use his senses to try and discern something about it.

Anyone passing by at this precise moment will spot the Doctor licking the back of his hand, as if doing so will tell him something about the strange mark.

III. Wildcard

[ Feel free to hit me up with anything! ]

i. the fog (if you don't mind!)

[hellblaze]

"This probably isn't the best time to say boo, now, is it?"

John Constantine always has some way to introduce himself. Sometimes its flashy, sometimes its just trying to be as irritating as possible. This time though, the spooky bit isn't his fault. He's simply stepped into vision from the fog. Long tan trenchcoat, cigarette in his mouth, looking particularly irritated. There's evidence of rain still staining his coat.

At least his very British accent must be some sort of a comfort.

He looks the other man over. It's a bit obvious to an occult detective that the disembodied voices aren't coming from the man--but, can't hurt to double check. Especially when John himself had been under an overpass down in New Orleans just moments before.

Urianger Augurelt | Final Fantasy 14

[yugiohs]

i. The Fog;
[ Urianger is seeking shelter. The mist reminds him of the brume of Ishgard, or the cloying traps of the faerie land of Ill Mheg, but there's something else: it seems strange to him, the gloom. Not mad made, but certainly not normal, and try as he might he can't sense any magic humming about. Perhaps that is because his upon arrival his focus had not been with him, and while he can still channel his healing and protective spells, they're extremely limited.

He strikes an intimidating figure in the fog -- he's 6'6", lean and lithe and not quite entirely human. His ears are long and sharp, his arms unnaturally elongated in comparison to a normal man, posture somewhat strange to adjust for his gait. It's fairly easy to mistake him for something Not Quite Right in the fog, with how thick the weather is--is he a monster, perhaps, lurking to strike soon? A foe cloaked in obscurity? Regardless, he's trying to unlock a door to seek shelter.

There are voices. Her voice, specifically, calling for him. A voice he thought he would never hear again. He speeds up his actions.

The door doesn't budge. Urianger steps back, looks at a fairly large stone on the ground, and picks it up in his long, slender hands. He's not one for brute force, but it doesn't take him long to break the door's window in a dazzling display of problem-solving. His arm snakes through to unlock it from the inside, with one passing glance to the mist once more, he heads in. ]


ii. Past Deeds;
[ While he's not a common face in the village (he prefers solitude, a simple house on the edge of the forest sufficing for his meager needs), he's not as much of a fresh face as he had been, having been here for the enormous amount of two whole days. The Town Hall had seemed a logical place for him to explore, if not for research than to cautiously seek out others. Two chocobo with one stone.

He sees the note but continues his own search, eventually coming back when it seems fruitless. When he does round the corner, slippers soft on the floor, he's unsurprised to see someone else there. ]

Dost thou discern it? [ He nods to the paper, head tilted to the side, gold eyes curious. ] "Why did this happen?" It's meaning remains elusive, as I cannot ascertain it's origin or meaning.

[ He looks out of place entirely, with black robes accented with glittering gold jewlery, a tattoo on his cheek, silver hair feathered and chin length. The fact that he's sticking out like a sore thumb doesn't seem to bother him at all. ]


iii. Cards;
[ Eventually, while waiting for night, he'll cautiously head to the boarding house. He's quiet and always has been, and it doesn't take him long to find a small table in the corner. It's natural for him to hunch somewhat, used to his own world's men making things specifically for their size and their size only, and his purposed slouch doesn't seem to annoy him as he begins shuffling and arranging a deck cards. It's fairly meditative for him, a calm expression on quite sharp features.

He looks up, a soft smile. ]

Wouldst thou wish for the stars to tell thy fate?


iv. Wildcard;
[ Urianger is hard to miss, being the equivalent of a (very tall) Elf and constantly in wizard robes. He'll usually be on the edge of the woods, or by the library--and more often than not he's in the middle of the town square at night, staring at the stars. ]

iii

[ishotyouuu]

[Wade doesn't have enough mental breadcrumbs to get home from this scenario. One minute he's kicking back in his squalid New York apartment with a bowl of nachos and a cold one, watching his fifteenth marathon of The Golden Girls, and the next he's in a weird-ass cabin in the woods where some Legolas looking motherfucker is asking him about fate like he walked right out of Shakespeare in the Park.

Wade arches an incredulous eyebrow at the man, but in the end relents. He's had weirder sex dreams.]

Sure thing, d'Artagnan-- I'll bite. Not much of a believer in fate, but knock yourself out.

[lorule_shopkeeper]

The Fog

[The merchant was outside when the Fog started to roll in and it didn't take him long to get lost in it. Lorule always had a terrible weather and sudden, blinding fog wasn't the worst thing in the world, but what he wasn't prepared for were the voices. After asking for help, desperately crawling on the ground to keep track of the road, he heard his queen's voice asking for help.

No matter how terrified he was, Ravio was quick to follow it, wondering if even Hilda found herself in that horrible place... only to find himself lost, his queen no longer answering any call. The merchant swallowed, trying to find his way back but only wandering further away from the road. Ugh, he was going to be forced to wait until the fog was gone, huh? He didn't like that at all, it made him feel exposed and weak.]

Huh... hello? Hilda? Can anyone hear me?

Past Deeds

[Ravio was not unfamiliar with abandoned looking buildings, Lorule is covered in ruins and even the village was falling apart before he left. People lived in worse buildings than this Town Hall, yet the merchant couldn't help but feel afraid, especially after discovering the symbols on the board.]

Oh... oh dear... That's blood, isn't it?

[Even with his decent knowledge of magic and symbols, he couldn't recognize anything. He felt like it was important, though, so after a moment of hesitation he reached for his bag and took a notebook out of it, starting to copy the various scribbles on it. Perhaps, if he was lucky, someone knew more about those.]

Wildcard
[Hit me with anything.]