villagememes | test drive

test drive — autumn
nav | logs | ooc | faq

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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Sure it does, mate. Means its a spooky scribble.

[ Says one John Constantine, leaning against the doorway, twirling his lighter in his hand with a cigarette in his mouth. He raises an eyebrow and looks at the rearranging.

Huh. ]

Just what sort of picture you tryin' to put together?

[ To his credit, he doesn't jump out of his skin when he hears the voice. Probably because he's too engrossed in switching the papers around--that one goes here, this one goes there, not the other way around, idiot--and it takes him a moment to actually look up.

(he's so absorbed, he thinks the other's accent is Australian for a moment) ]

I don't know. [ He sits rocks back on his heels, back squinting at what he's got so far. His nose wrinkles. ]

I thought it was some sort of spell work, maybe? [ The fact that he probably shouldn't out himself as a magician is out the window, he figures, when it ccomes to horror-filled towns and "spooky scribbles. ] But it's still not making any sense.

Spells usually got a bit more detail to them than that. [ He gestures to the papers. Then, a shrug. ] Occult leaning, I'd say. Not that I'm familiar with this branch.

[ He raises his hands and lights his cigarette before snapping the lid shut. ] We'd need to know what the spell is first, mate. Otherwise we could be writing a giant Fuck You without meaning to. Oh, we wouldn't want to offend the kidnappers, now would we?

[ He's all filled with a bit of piss and a bit of vinegar and whole lot of sarcasm today. ]

[ Of course spells go into more detail--that's something Quentin can agree on, though he does furrow his brow and looks him over a second time.

Piss and vinegar, meet an absolute, complete fucking nerd: ]

It's actually pretty easy if you can try to triangulate the meta-math -- I've ruled out Alonso's Reverse Thermogenesis, and it's definitely not any Anti-Traveler ward I've seen. Word as Bond is out, which was my first guess asides from some sort of standard summoning spell, you know?

[ so that rules out the 'fuck you' spell, at least in his world. When he rocks back, he lets himself flop, going from a near seiza style of sitting to having his rear firmly on the floor. He's driving himself up the wall with this. ]

How long have you been here? [ It's an open ended question. He could mean in this room, he could mean in this place. ]

[ oh god, he's one of those types. john rolls his eyes. oh well, at least he isn't a poser. ]

Or it could be a communication spell.

[ he absolutely stares at quentin then. ah, god. bookworms. people who know all those fancy terms and the text books. usually they haven't got a clue how magic works outside that--but he's willing to give this bloke a shot. ]

Few days.

Great. [ It's decidedly not great, if his tone is anything to go by, and he's tempted to get up but he winds up just looking somewhat crumped in defeat instead. ]

Are you the only one?

[ He's scanning the other for something--a tattoo, specifically. His rough and tumble approach to things practically screams Hedge Witch, not at all classically trained. Which isn't a bad thing, but it definitely would help him put things in perspective.

Oh, shit--right: ]

I'm, uh, Quentin. By the way.

The only one in the town? Nope. Plenty of other people who got suckered into this by whatever It is.

[ He has plenty of tattoos underneath his shirt. Probably none that the other man would be looking for. ]

John Constantine. [ A shrug then, formalities. He'll keep his job titles to himself for now. ] Something of a mage then, are we?

Magician. Brakebills. [ He figures they're all from the same universe for now. No reason not to. The crumpled paper is still in his hands, a small lifeline, though he does at least remove the pen from behind his ear. ]

What's the common denominator? With the people already here--and have you seen someone with long blonde hair? Glasses? Or someone very tall, with curly hair?

Not many other mages that I've seen. [ Cowboys though. Yes. ] Most people have given me a bit of an eye for the occupations I've got.

[ More like occupational hazard. ] If I've had to guess? We're all more or less in a shit place in our lives. Something hanging over our heads that we don't want to deal with. Or, we were dealing with, before whatever It was plucked us out.

[ As he is convinced there is something out there. ] I don't suppose those descriptions fit someone you know?

[ Mages, he says, and Quentin stares blankly. That's a first, but names are weird and he's still too much of a stressed mess to really split hairs about that when there's more pressing things.

Creepy symbol and all. ]

Occupations plural?

[ That's more interesting because he's got a bit of a theory. If Constantine's common denominator theory is right, he might be able to push it a little further... ]

Might be better to say they're specialized fields rather than different occupations.

[ He raises a lofty eyebrow. ] Exorcist, demonologist, and ... occasional dabbler of the Dark Arts. Since you asked without really asking.

test drive — autumn

ii town hall; (if you don't mind!)

oh hey!! always!

i saw "magicians", and know nothing, but went "oh more magic people!"

I've only seen the keanu reeves movie so this should be lovely! :')

omg keanucon is fantastic, i got an account for him too!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject