The Village Mod (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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villagememes2020-09-05 09:07 pm
villagemod) wrote in villagememes2020-09-05 09:07 pm
Entry tags:
test drive — autumn
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.
— 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.
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?
no subject
Oh, it's not my town. [ A thread of frustration is layered in those words. She gives a very firm shake of her head with a slightly bitter smile. ] Very much not my town. We actually haven't found anyone who does live here... But it's called Mathias.
[ Sighing heavily, she wonders how exactly she ended up as the welcoming committee. Coulson would be so much better at this. ] And I'm guessing it's really far from wherever you're used to, because I assume you didn't just come from a renaissance faire.
no subject
less and less she seems like a sorceress. not for any outward reason, save for the fact that there's no cryptic prophecy falling from her lips, no magic prickling at his skin the way it sometimes tended to, that cat-like instinct of hairs standing on end.
her accent is none he's heard, which only fuels his confusion even more, no doubt written on his face as he shifts his weight. ) Mathias. No doubt nowhere near Cintran borders, then.
( wait. a what. he snorts, the smallest curve of humour, fleeting, tugging at the corner of his mouth. why would she ask him that?. ) ...No faires in dungeons, I'm afraid. ( geralt, you shouldn't tell people you were just in jail. )
no subject
The name Cintran leaves her frowning, but then he goes and mentions dungeons and she can't. She just can't. Dungeons?? Eyebrows raised, she stares at him for a moment before pressing fingertips to her eyes.
Why is this her life? She's never going to complain about having to deal with aliens or robots ever again. ]
Dungeons, that's cool. Super. [ Can you hear the sarcasm, Geralt? Dropping her hands again, the expression she wears is the textbook definition of this might as well happen. ] Come on, we should get inside before creepy voices start talking at us or something.
no subject
her word choices only further instill the fact that they're not at all on the same page. and it is only all that more vexing to the witcher, when his answers seem to inspire such frustration.
he can't claim to not have such an effect, to be fair. ) There's voices...
Of course there are. ( he nods, polite and schooled in the way of acceptance. ) Lead on.
( after a while, it is a completely natural thing for him to ask: ) Are there monsters? That you've seen.
no subject
She turns and heads back the way she'd come, moving slowly and just barely in front of him so she can keep him in her peripheral vision. The last thing she needs is to lose him in this mess. But when he says that, she stops, stares at him for a moment with an expression halfway to horrified, and then pouts almost sullenly. ]
Not yet. [ Though now she's certain there will be one waiting back at the Gull for them. That's just how her life works. ]
no subject
as more of the town emerged, the more he felt himself out of place, amongst the odd houses, the too-smooth road of hard stone, the woman's unfamiliar clothing. destiny, it seemed, was a bigger pain in his ass than he could have ever given it credit for. )
So, a quiet town with quiet secrets, then. ( a leap of a conclusion, but one all the same. ) The worst kinds.
no subject
This place was anything but quiet when I first arrived. There was a thunderstorm so loud it shook the buildings. [ Among other things. She glances over to make sure he's still moving along beside her. ] But otherwise, yeah, that about sums it up.