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
"Whatever happened, I do not think they will be returning anytime soon." This place is as good as any, if not better, to bunker down for a while until the weather clears up and they figure out their next move. Of course, he's not planning on a long term stay, and they'll need to find food and other people. But he wasn't planning on coming here either, so. One step at a time.
"I think it is safe to say that we are fine to stay here a little while. Just-" He raises his hands with his palms facing her in case she thinks to protest. "Until the fog rolls away."
no subject
She considers his words and doesn't protest for now. "Well, I think we can't really go anywhere in that fog anyway. There might be other people out there but...there might be something dangerous, too." She can't help but consider how fog in the Wyoming mountains obscures Infected hiding in it. This kind of impenetrable fog can be deadly. Even without any sign of Infected, she's not taking chances, especially without weapons.
"Let's go back downstairs, I guess," she says, going back to the stairs. She can fetch her bag once they get down there.
no subject
"Best not to dwell too much on theories we cannot confirm, I think," he suggests. He lets her take the lead heading back downstairs, though he's sticking close in case anyone or anything else has decided to pay them a visit while they were poking around upstairs, ready to jump ahead at a moment's notice. Not that he doesn't trust her to defend herself, but she does have her hands full with supplies they had looted.
"You uh..." As they get to the bottom of the stairs, Doc regards her carefully with a tilt of his head. "You come across death quite often?" It's just that, most people would have assumed something else. Maybe a town evacuation, impending fire or something like that.