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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
[ 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.
no subject
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.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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?]
no subject
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.
no subject
[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?
no subject
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.
no subject
My name is John Henry, but I do go by Henry. [Or you know, Doc Holliday, but it's early days to be namedropping. Nothing strange about sharing a common first name with someone. Maybe a funny story will arise from two Johns walking into a library.]
I was a little more interested in finding the saloon, but I shall accompany you, if you would have me. We will be needing whiskey, eventually.
no subject
Henry. [ He nods and finishes up the scribble - or his poor attempt at one. ] Two Johns walk into a bar, one British, one American. Sounds like a bad joke waiting to happen.
Saloon? [ He puts the pen behind his ear and turns to face his new found comrade. ] I get you're a bit ah, time lost. Americans call them bars now, mate. Pubs where I'm from. Probably function more or less like you're used to. Although, if the whole town is this empty.... well, no point letting some of that stock go to waste.
no subject
Could be a good joke. It's surely too early to say. [Henry turns towards the door, taking a couple of steps towards it and studying the view outside the window before turning over his shoulder to regard Constantine.]
I'm aware of what a bar is. Used to run one. Stocktake then, after the library. [You know. Where John and John raid the local bar and take the stock.]
Shall we go then, Constantine? [He looks to be done replicating those chicken scratches.]
no subject
Maybe, for once, John will get lucky. Maybe they'll find some sorry sod still alive and they can ask what happens. Maybe - just maybe - the universe will give him a lucky streak.
Probably not]Oh, well. What do I know about the American experience with cowboys, eh? [ Stocktake then library. He likes this. This is a great plan. Nothing is going to go.
With a smirk he pulls another cigarette out and lights up as he leads the way out of the government building. ]