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

john constantine | constantine | ota

[hellblaze]

I. THE FOG.

[ John wishes he could say any of this is weird to him. It's not. Unusual and unexpected, sure, but not weird. He comes to a stop once he realizes the fog isn't lifting. His eyebrows, cigarette in his mouth and yet still halfway in the pack.

Voices... nice touch.

He looks over his shoulder, fully pulling the cigarette from the pack. A moment later and its lit as he gazes around his surroundings. What would of been surroundings, then the fog covered it all. Bollocks. ]

There's easier ways to get my attention, [ he's testing it out. Never know if its a demon, angel, or some other supernatural twit he's pissed off. ] although I do appreciate a bit of theatrics.

III. PAST DEEDS.

[ There's been plenty of symbols and other manner of derangement John Constantine has seen in his life. Messages scrawled in blood isn't terribly frightening. An occult symbol he hasn't seen? Now, that's a bit unsettling. More unsettling than it should be. His mind is wrapping around anything he could relate to it. Where was a convenient doorway to Jasper's bloody millhouse when he needed one?

A puff of smoke leaves his lips as he looks at the papers littering the floor. His head tilts, eyes following them one by one. He's half tempted to grab them all and start trying to pin them together like some bizarre map. It... really wouldn't be the first time he'd done anything like that. ]

the fog

[donthithimintheballs]

[Logan isn't all that fond of the fog as it is. It fucks with the senses, messes with the eyes. It's a pain in the ass, for the most part. Where he'd rely on his senses to get through a lot of stuff, this was dampening, literally, his senses and he hated it.]

[He hears someone though, and that gives him pause. He can see a light of a cigarette not far away.]

I on the other hand don't care for theatrics, so someone needs to know it the hell off.

[He tried to pitch is voice towards the light, working his way that way.]

[hellblaze]

[ He almost spins on his heels as he hears the voice answer. An easy smile around the cigarette shows. Human--well. Human sounding anyways. John isn't quite sure if the man is supernatural, demon, angel, or who knows what. Best to play it safe. ]

Things that go bump in the night that make fogs tend not to stop the theatrics just because you're not a fan. [ He slips his hands into his coat pockets and looks up. They can't even see the sky.

Also, the voice isn't British. He must still be in the Americas then. ]

Pricks, the lot of them, really.

past deeds

[thering]

I do beg your pardon, sir. [Dark eyes glaze over the display that just reeks of bad news in front of the scruffy-looking blond gentleman before making eye contact. He tilts his head back enough to reveal his own eyes from under the brim of his hat. Dressed in his own dark overcoat, and a vest beneath that layer, and a shirt beneath that layer, Doc might look a little overdressed for this spontaneous occult pub quiz session.

But, with an unlit cigarillo dangles from the corner of his lips, maybe he didn't interrupt the stranger's pondering to play this puzzle game.]

Would you happen to have a light?

[hellblaze]

[ 'Sir'. John lets out a chuckle before looking over at the other man--bloody hell. Did he step out of a Western movie?

He leans back and pulls his cigarette from his mouth. Best not t o drop the ashes on unknown occult symbols. ]

That I do. [ The scruffy-looking blond gentleman is British to boot as well.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his classic lighter, engraved and everything. A skilled practice flick and the flame pops out. ]

Just be sure to be careful around the occult jigsaw puzzle, yeah?

[thering]

[It's an interesting accent. One Doc notes with a quirk of his eyebrow, but ultimately without comment. Leaning in close, angling the tip of his cigarillo down to the flame, he cups the side of the flame even though it's not necessary for a zippo, hand hovering close to the blond's before falling away once his smoke is lit.]

Much obliged. [And he is careful not to burn or step on anything, leaning back and putting a slightly more respectable space between them.]

Are you making sense of this thing, then? [Because so far, nothing around here is making a lick of sense.]

[hellblaze]

[ An easy smile crosses his face. Bit close on the hand touching. Well, at least the man's got a good taste when it comes to bad habits. He flicks the lighter shut and returns it to his pocket. ]

Oh, no trouble at all, mate. Addicts needing to stick together and all that. [ There is a waggle of the cigarette between his hands before he looks back at the board with that eerie message. ] Trying to. Although, the symbol is a new one ...and that's saying something for my line of work.

[ He might need to some divination. Of course, that'll need certain materials. Candles, paint, the works. Things he doesn't have because he left them at the bloody millhouse when he stormed off into the rain in New Orleans. ]

[thering]

Oh I do fine without. [Let them not start talking about addictions. It's a bold accusation. His attention gets drawn back to one of the weird squiggles.]

By 'line of work', you would be referring to... [Placing his hands on his hips, Doc makes no attempt to hide the way he is studying the blond from the tips of that gravity-defying hair to the scuffed shoes.

Professor? Sheriff? Or Professional Procurer of Children's Drawings?]

[hellblaze]

[ A half-shrug is given. Good on him if he doesn't need to chainsmoke and drink to keep his life together. He takes another long puff off the cigarette before finishing it. Though he's nice enough to drop it to a part of the floor it won't catch on fire and put it out with the tip of his shoe. ]

Exorcist, demonologist, and petty dabbler of the Dark Arts. [ John gives a wide grin, knowing most people won't buy it at all. He should of brought those business cards with him. ] Meaning I'm usually an expert in, ah, spooky scribbles.

[thering]

I see. [Both eyebrows rise and fall as Doc tilts his head the other direction, pursing his lips and nodding without questioning the long string of titles. There was a time where a man could style himself as anything, so long as he was good at it, and there wasn't anybody to tell him what he could and could not be.]

I do believe I did pass by a library, over yonder. [Doc swings his head over his shoulder before turning back to admire the cryptic display before them.]

Maybe you'll have luck finding sommin' similar with. "Spooky scribbles".

[hellblaze]

[ 'Over yonder.' Christ, he really is a cowboy, isn't he? John has a small chuckle to himself. Not a day goes by where something strange or unusual happens in his life. This is definitely new. Appreciated though. The man hasn't started cursing and tried to kill him -- yet. ]

Depends if the local library decides to keep occult books. [ He puffs his cheeks out as he thinks. ] There might be a section that's been off limits. Could be something there.

[ He tilts his head again. ] Better question is why the message--[ he points to the scrawled lettering, ]--is written in blood.

[thering]

Well, I mean. [Doc sighs and places his cigarillo back between his lips, raising his now freed hand to gesture at the words 'why did this happen'.] I'd like to know myself. I's thinking maybe I had too much whiskey but this feels pretty damn real.

[All he has are questions at this point and it's only becoming more frustrating as the questions start to pile up without answers. Why is it in blood, whose blood is it, what does 'this' in 'why did this happen' refer to, where is everyone else in this town, where are the people he was with, where is 'here', how did they get here, and who touched his damn guns?]

You don't happen to be from around here, I gather.

[hellblaze]

Oh, trust me mate. That distinct feeling of evil in the air means it's definitely not a dream. At least, not one the human mind cooks up.

[ A regular old ghost town. Question is... are there ghosts, and what made the ghosts? ]

Liverpool, England. Though I tend to work in London.

[ John looks back at the irritated-at-the-situation company. Not that he isn't irritated himself. Namely at that nagging feeling of being unsettled and scared at seeing some damn occult item. ]

Spent some time here in the States though. Did a bit of dabbling in solving occult mysteries down in the South. Georgia, Louisiana, around there. Was on my way home when this, [ he gestures to the area to mean the town, ] sucked me into it.

[thering]

[Well, that's not ominous or anything. Thanks for helping him sleep better tonight.]

Oh well you're a long way from home, mister, and your work is likely never finished. All manner of mysteries be happening down South. [That's true even during Doc's time, although judging from the way he half rolls his eyes and makes that tight-lipped expression, they might not be referring to the same kinds of mysteries.]

We could use the help of a fellow like you, when we leave this place, should you like to venture north for more uh... unnatural encounters. [Doc turns his head away momentarily to puff on his cigarillo.]

[hellblaze]

[ Sleep tight, don't let the spooky scribbles bite! ]

More than along way. Had a friend ask a favor of me that led me down to your southern bits. Just ended up staying because of the classic ol' good versus evil fight. [ He's had his wondering if this is all apart of the Rising Darkness--best to keep that part to himself. ]

And what kind of manner of unnatural do you have up north? [ It's easier than talking about a mess he doesn't quite understand yet. Helps him get a read on the cowboy. He really should have brought those business cards when they went to New Orleans. Bollocks. ]

[thering]

[Are they still talking about the same southern bits?]

Demons and other foul creatures that seem to have a bit of trouble staying dead. You did say you were a demonologist, did you not? [Different universe, similar issues, surely a man seizing the opportunity to take part in the classic old good versus evil fight would be interested. Glancing back at the scrawl in blood though, Doc breathes a sigh and lowers his head.]

I suppose it's best we worry about our present situation for now. I do hate to burden you with another load of problems.

[hellblaze]

[ It's honestly hard to tell with John. Possibly. ]

That's the thing about demons. You either rip the heart of them - like you would a fallen angel - or you just kick them out of wherever they're holding up. Send them back to Hell, hope some sorry bastard doesn't summon them again. [ There is a half shrug. ] Not many people chose the fight.

Better someone else's problems than my own. [ He turns back to the scribbles. ] I don't suppose you've got a pen and paper on you, mate.

[thering]

[Well it's not that kicking them out isn't an option but it's not as easy as the Briton is making it sound and Doc was rather hoping for a more permanent solution.

At the mention of pen and paper, Doc shakes his head, but a blur of white out of the corner of his eyes latch onto the stationery supply that conveniently happened to be there on the far side. His head tilts back as his eyebrows crawl up towards his hat line. The box of pens doesn't look as dusty or withered as anything else he's come across so far. There's probably barely any dust on the top sheet of paper.]

You mean... that pen and paper? [What the hell is going on?]

[hellblaze]

[ Oh, it's never that easy. It just helps people feel a bit better if it sounds that easy.

He reaches into his coat for his pack, pulling another cigarette from within by his lips when he notices the reaction from the other man. His eyes move over to the stationery that most certainly wasn't there before. He glances at the man, seeing if he'd just notice it appear out of thin air. Great. Bloody theatrical magic. Just his favorite. ]

That'll do. [ Ciggy in his mouth, unlit, he nods to the man as he walks past and carefully goes to look at the mysterious pen and paper. He puffs his cheeks out a bit. ] Oh, I hate the flashy sort of magic shit.

[thering]

I don't know, I mean. [Doc has a bit of a chuckle and shrugs.] Maybe we could just ask nicely for a way out of here and a door will just mysteriously appear right before our very eyes.

[No? No such luck? Alright, fine. To be fair, they were probably there all along and Doc hadn't been paying attention. He was after a light for his cigarillo after all, he's only just developing a passing interest in the demonic squiggles. Sorry, 'spooky scribbles'.]

Could I be of assistance in any way?

[hellblaze]

If that worked, then my life wouldn't be nearly as shite as it's been. [ John looks at the man whose name he still hasn't bothered to ask, eyebrows raised. He glances around again. No sign of anyone, anything. Not even a bit of a magical wiff. That doesn't sound right by him.

Passing interest in demonic squiggles might be the best way to handle them.

John snags the paper and pen and gets to work replicating the symbols. Or, well, the best he can. He's no artist -- that was Zed's territory. ]

I think our best bet, mate, would be to go to that library of yours you mentioned and have a look around. Think that they keep the locked down section all tight and tidy when the whole town has gone to hell? [ He glances up with a grin on his face. ] John Constantine.

Fog - I'm so sorry, I had to go hit the costume cliche

[waywardsister]

[ Claire has been on edge, trying to get... somewhere, anywhere, really. Battle and loss are still sitting fresh in her mind, and the fog's whispers are not unkind.

And perhaps for the first time in her life, she's actually... actually glad to see the shape of that stupid trenchcoat briefly through the fog, and she course corrects immediately, the dimg glow of the cigarette not even registering as she reaches out for his arm. ]

Cas? Thank---

[ Only then she recoils, when her mind catches up with the flood of short-lived relief and she realizes - wrong shape, wrong coat, wrong hair, wrong face, wrong voice, wrong everything. ]

Shit! Damnit...

[ insert jokes about how everyone thought constantine ripped off castiel FFF ]

[hellblaze]

[ John slowly turns to look at the woman as she grabs his arm. He glances at the hand, then at her face, and gives her an easy smile. What? She's good looking. He has no shame and will never have shame. Ever. ]

I assume you know a few blokes in a trenchcoat then, luv. [ He properly turns to her, fishing the rest of the cigarette out of its pack and lighting it up. ] I don't suppose you know anything about this fog.

[ man, poor guy. pop culture wasn't kind as to who was designed in whose image ]

[waywardsister]

[ Claire grimaces, trying to layer bravado over embarrassment. She's the type to barrel on ahead. ]

Just the one, actually. He's my... he's like a dad type. It's a whole vibe, apparently.

[ Which... she then realizes might feel insulting, so she scuffs her boot against the ground awkwardly and crosses her arms. ]

Other than it's creepy and makes voices at you? Nah. I was thinking ghosts, at first, but that's not really their MO.

trecnchoat bros got it rough </3

[hellblaze]

[ If anything, there is a grin on his face. He doesn't mind the fact he's been mistaken for someone. That someone is probably better than him anyways. ]

Dad in a trenchcoat. Imagine that. [ There's a chuckle as if he thinks he is oh so funny.

Though, her comment about the ghosts raises an eyebrow. ] Depends on the sort of spirits you're talking about. Your normal human sort? Maybe not, unless they've made a particular deal with some sort of deity.