rubimemes | TEST DRIVE MEME 003

⚰︎ ⍢ ⌲ ⍚ TEST DRIVE MEME:

Welcome to RUBILYKSKOYE — a dark, horror-smut game where player choices will drive a mod-run storyline about the world and its NPCs. This test drive meme provides a medley of prompts evoking the game's general tone.

THESE THREADS CAN BE GAME CANON if both players are accepted into the game and agree to it. However, if players who'd prefer to start fresh are welcome to reuse these prompts in their own personal logs upon acceptance into the communities. Note: characters arriving in September's application round will arrive in the midst of a two-part event that will continue through October. Players may date their character's arrival any time from September 8th onward.

CONTENT WARNINGS for this game include: monsters, body horror, dub-con, non-con, religion, blood/violence, and marking/branding, loss of autonomy/self, and mental influences. This log additionally has warnings for: disorientation, loss of direction, hallucinations, time distortion/lost time, aphrodisiacs, group sex, dubious consent, cannibalism and cannibalistic urges, spiders, bondage/restraint, loss of autonomy, body horror, sadism, torture, cult behavior, assault, arson, caging, free use, and public sex.

If you have QUESTIONS about the test drive prompts, please ask HERE. Questions about the game itself or the general setting should be directed to the FAQ.

FAQ ✧ SETTING ✧ CALENDAR ✧ RESERVES ✧ APPLICATIONS

IN THE WOODS SOMEWHERE

The chirping of partridges in the treetops rouses you. Light barely filters through the canopy, just enough to suggest daylight. By the time it reaches the forest floor, the light has taken on a sickly green. You lie amongst the frost-covered mosses and ferns, the frozen soil cold and just a little damp on your bare skin.

Wherever you were before this moment, whatever you were doing or wearing, when you awaken in this forest, you find yourself naked and helpless as the day you were born. As you sit up and get your bearings, aside from a brief wave of disoriented nausea, you seem to be no worse for wear than you last remember.

The gnarled oaks and moss suggest no sign of civilization or sentient life. Just flickers of movement from curious squirrels or brave lizards emerging from a temporary retreat from the wintry weather. With your feet under you, and you'll find the wood is filled with berry bushes and nut trees, though much of the fruit has been picked clean. The freshwater stream that runs north-south, populated by both poisonous toads and delicious crawdads, is running actively again as the weather warms back up from the recent snowstorm.

You may start out alone, or among others sharing stories just like yours, or you may run into others who are fully clothed and ready for a strange expedition ...

LOST WOODS:

The expedition party made their way into the woods on September 14th expecting a direct route to the Void. Instead, they've found themselves lost and disoriented.

Their navigational tools seem useless, leading them around in circles as ancient trees, caves, water sources, and other reliable landmarks do not align with the maps. Trees seem to move — didn't you see that exact deer drinking from the brook a quarter mile ago? The ever-changing and impenetrable maze of the woods may separate characters from one another, or get them so lost that they wind up back at the edge of the wood, staring at castle walls or farmlands.

With no easy measure of their progress, and the treetops obscuring the light, time feels dilated. Characters may feel they've been in the woods for hours when it has been days, or for weeks when it has been hours. The amount of time that passes in the woods will be individualized for each character, and will not match the full month that passes for characters back in town.

~~DON'T~~ SMELL THE FLOWERS:

While some folx are being turned around and sent back to start, those that make it deeper are in perhaps worse shape. The dilated time and the circuitous nature of their efforts may stretch their week's worth of rations too thin, driving them to rely upon foraged mosses and fruits for sustenance.

The woods are full of fungi and edible flora with aphrodisiac side effects like increased bloodflow, heightened arousal, and increased tactile sensitivity.

Much like the animals afflicted by the Void, the plant-life here grows strange. The deeper they go, the more troubling the side effects of their foraged sustenance becomes.

Deep in the forest they may find:

A moss that makes them hallucinate an idealized sexual experience from deep in their repressed subconscious, which they will determinedly act out.

The pulsing fruits that grow amongst this moss will render them desperate to orgasm as if they have been edged for hours, but they will find themselves physically incapable of doing so — unless they succumb to its secondary effect, the hunger for still-warm human flesh.

A nut that grows in bushes leaves those who eat it unable to feel satisfied by just a single partner, seeking out threesomes and moresomes with a lost hiker or another pair.

The more of these that an individual consumes, the more pronounced the effects as their secretions build up in the body over time. It may become a common sight to find a friend tucked behind a tree, stark naked and desperately masturbating.

REVENGE OF THE SPIDERS:

Monsters thrive this far out. Huge, blood-red spiders the size of hunting dogs drop from the treetops. In addition to their venomous bite, which contains a fast-acting paralytic, these creatures are clever: they attempt to use their webbing to entangle any trespassers, binding limbs together or to trees. If you're unfortunate to become fully cocooned, you don't have long before this forest will be the last thing you see.

However, some of the clothed expeditioners will be able to tell you that the Duchess of the nearby town has a special relationship to these spiders, and players should expect their treatment of the spiders to influence future events

BORDER CROSSING:

The void can play tricks on your senses. As madness sets in and you lose all sense of direction, you may also lose control of your body — what is that steers your hands to turn against your friends? Why does it sound like your own voice whispering?

In the fog, you may also hear the voices of those familiar to you — people you know from the town, or people whom you know with almost perfect certainty aren't here. these figments may recreate unhappy memories or force trespassers to hallucinate their worst nightmares. Nothing is as it seems in the void, and when you swing at these figments, desperate to silence them, it might not be a figment at all, but a friend in the flesh trying to help you. By the time you see their true face, it could be too late to stop yourself.

There are risks associated with Void proximity: increased aggression, paranoia, emotional instability, accelerated monster transformations, and hallucinations.

As the time dilation worsens, characters' monstrous transformations may happen in uneven stages. For instance, a character may manifest a physical aspect or supernatural ability or urge that suits their fully transformed state even if the other aspects of them remain human. These changes can happen totally unprompted, or as a result of their generalized Void proximity symptoms.

Even untransformed, the closer they get to the Void, the more intensely those on the expedition feel intrusive violent and sadistic urges — not just to lash out at others suddenly, but also a fascination with inflicting pain (emotional or physical) that may or may not be erotic in nature. This sadism seems especially potent in anyone with a Niez mark. Those who notice the pattern may be inclined to urge some of their friends to turn back now, before they reach the Void ...

writer's block?

If you're struggling to pick a way to engage the prompts, try: naked hiking, fighting or getting webbed up by spiders, acting out a hallucination, or grappling with aphrodisiac flower symptoms!

TOWNIE TROUBLES

Turn your back to the darker, shadowy parts of the forest and eventually the glow of manmade lights and the curve of a dirt road may come into view. At the edge of the wood, you'll find a town surrounded by a fifty-foot wall of beige stone. The only entrance is an iron gate positioned on the southern edge. When you arrive, the gate is already open, welcoming people inside.

This quaint, historic town of five-thousand has cobbled street and signs lit by gas lamp. Wooden shutters protect otherwise open-air windows on the buildings, which are all under three stories with gabled roofs. A number of businesses hug the main street — a clockmaker, a cobbler, a grocer — while residential homes sprawl outwards towards the wall. At the far end of the main street, visible about a mile to the north now that the trees and the enormous wall is out of the way, sits a castle with three towers.

When you enter, the streets are full of people, but despite any efforts on your part to hide or make excuses, they don't seem offended by your nakedness. Even families with children don't gawk or look twice. Those determined to find proper clothing regardless will find that modern clothing stores aren't available — the closest this town has is a tailor's shop and a stand in the central marketplace selling scarves and blankets.

BUNKING UP:

The locals may still direct newcomers to the boarding house for both clothes and a place to stay. Accessible through an embellished iron garden gate and obscured by hanging plants, trees, and vines, beyond an overgrown yard in the residential sprawl of the town is a bright-red door, which opens to a spacious cottage of several stories. Parts of the house still bear the dust of disuse, gathered on various furnishings — bedding, sofas, curtains, wooden tables. However, it's already full of people! Anyone who's already appeared in the village just as you did today lives here.

Don't spend too much time exploring, though. You'll want to claim a bedroom quickly because each one only has two full-size beds, and there aren't enough spaces for everyone. The last people upstairs will need to double up to squeeze in. Roommates will not be mod-assigned; players should coordinate directly with one another to determine their living arrangements.

ON THURSDAY WE HAVE ORGIES:

On Thursdays, religious ceremony spills into the streets as soon as the sun and the children are safely abed. Dancing locals paint their faces painted red and purple and black and yellow. They all wear revealing clothing that, to your sensibilities, may seem sexually suggestive. Some individuals openly expose their breasts and nipples, while some others may incidentally reveal when they turn around to tend to their errands that their dress is backless — entirely! Notably, the locals' choice of clothes reveal a mark on their bodies. An astute person will notice that there are four varieties — and a very astute (~~thirsty~~) person might notice that their fellow woodsfolk also have one of these somewhere on their body.

The folks dancing and selling their wares are all offering their energies to give thanks and ask for their god's patronage! The abstractions are all familiar — fertility, harvest, peace. Smalltalk makes them eager to chat and draw you into those festivities — including some ceremonial wax-dripping on the exposed parts of your body! In addition to dancing and the lighting of any number of candles, you may stumble upon fighting rings inspired by Terry Silver's basement club, where the locals brawl until they're bloody and unable to move.

CULT CONSCIOUSNESS:

Usually, the people of the town are very generous, but the atmosphere of the town this month is a little ... darker.

Word has spread around town that some of the void-touched chose to remain behind, and perceptions turn critical rather quickly. Even those who thought they might offer support in alternative ways, or who weren't quite up for making the trek for various valid reasons, will be seen as refusing to help the Duchess. The townspeople increasingly consider those who stayed behind to be a threat to their beloved matriarch.

This unpopularity has consequences, as the townspeople of Rubilykskoye not only see no problem with acting upon their everyday violent urges, but feel that it's their civic duty! Newcomers who are just settling in won't be spared either, as they're found guilty by association for emerging from the wood instead of staying within it to join up with the expedition team.

As a result, the void-touched who stay behind will be targeted for everyday acts of violence and intimidation: they may be attacked on their way to work, or at the tavern. One reckless individual tries to set the boarding house aflame. Players are welcome to invent and resolve their own conflicts here,

but please make sure to reach out to a moderator if you feel it might be something that leads to meaningful consequences.

This behavior escalates over the course of the month, and by mid-month, the blacksmith has produced a number of stocks and human-sized cages to sit out in the town square. NPC townspeople will not hesitate to gang up on the void-touched, strip them, and throw them into these devices to 'learn a lesson' about being a part of this community. Similarly, the townspeople see no issue with sating their sexual urges with the folx who are caged, whether they're willing or not.

writer's block?

If you're struggling to pick a way to engage the prompts, try: acquiring clothing or other inventory items, staking your claim on a bedroom, or wrassling with a local who's trying to throw that character into a cage!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Guilliman, oblivious to any and all fluster, puts his broad arms around Terry to secure him, and rises up to his feet again with no indication of strain.

"They are -- interfaces, for a specially designed suit of power armor. Allowing it to monitor my vital signs and maintain them within acceptable ranges."

Roboute adjusts his grip to hold the man closer, more comfortably for them both, as he starts walking again. He is warm and solid, his hearts beating a steady twin drumbeat in his chest.

"If I may conjecture," he begins, "you are from a non-spacefaring civilization? Possibly - a great many millennia in the past, relative to my own time of origin."

He adjusts to being carried pretty well. It is comfortable, and his feet were pretty sore. Even if he's used to playing through the pain he supposes he can take a load off every once in a while.

"It's 2019, if that means anything," he says, "We've been to the moon a couple times but that's about it."

"On Terra, yes? 'Earth.' The third millennium." It's a time period he knows very little of. But it seems to be one that this place favors.

"I am from the forty-second millennium."

"Yes, I'm from Earth."

Terry can hardly comprehend the forty-second millennium. If he met someone from that far in his own past, they'd be from the stone age. Is that how primitive he seems?

"Coming here must be quite the shock for you, then," he says, "You mentioned armor. Are you a fighter of some sort?"

Just looking at him he'd assume so, but who knows if humans are all that physically impressive in the future.

"Not as much as you might expect. There are some worlds in the Imperium that operate at this technology level, or lower. And while the humans here are more varied on their beliefs and the number of biological or psionic deviations present, they are otherwise much the same."

He's still unpacking how he feels about that variance, and about the thoughtless tolerance of xeno species. More data required.

"I am a military commander," Guilliman says, a master of understatement. "And primarch of the thirteenth legion, Ultramarines. Though that means little for your time period." He has to keep reminding himself of that. Anonymity. How long has it been since he was unknown?

He's not entirely sure what a primarch or an Ultramarine is, but he can put it together that it's something important. The word 'commander' is good enough for him, really. It's been decades since he's seen combat but he still craves the presence of a higher-ranking officer.

"I was a Lieutenant when I was young. United States Special Forces, though I don't imagine that means anything to you, either."

"'Lieutenant ' sounds familiar," Guilliman says, with the bone-dry humor that has panicked more than a few Terran nobles too-used to knowing when their lieges expect them to laugh their false laughs.

"The rest -- does not. Though 'special forces'..." He puts his words together carefully, not wishing to cause offense. "How would you describe that?"

"Well, at least not everything has changed, then," he says with a slight smile.

"We were elite squads that would take on specialized missions. It's a wide umbrella, but my unit focused on infiltration. Gathering intel, sabotaging equipment, planting explosives - anything to give us the advantage before an attack."

Guilliman laughs, a soft exhalation and a rough chuckle.

"I would elaborate on command structure, and we could compare. But I have been told that I am too focused on such things." But he says that in a warm, wistful way; the expression on his face making it clear that he misses such criticism dearly. "When I was younger, I had strong opinions on such strategems. But I was younger. And still thought that true war could be waged on even footing."

If the man he was now could go back ten thousand years... "I had brothers, who specialised, whose legions specialised, in asymmetrical warfare. Of various kinds." This man in his arms can't know truly the awful ache he feels when he thinks of Corvus, Konrad, Alpharius, when he wonders if he could have saved them. But he may be able to hear it in his voice.

"I was just a boy back then. I did what I was told."

His opinions on war and the ethics of what they were doing didn't matter, and so he never voiced them. He was just another body. But he met some good men there, and he misses them, too.

"Mm. It was a long time ago but I think about the men I fought with every day."

"Then you did your duty."

For Guilliman, it's as simple as that. It's not the job of the rank and file to make those kinds of decisions. Following orders is what a soldier -- baseline human or space marine, and anything in-between -- is supposed to do.

"The bonds formed in combat compare to little else," he agrees. "It is not just for their shared genetics that Astartes call each other 'brother.' And that I call my legion my sons."

"Yes. I suppose I did."

Whether or not he's proud of that is something he's constantly grappling with himself about. But the bonds he made were real, at least, even if they didn't work out the way he hoped in the end.

"It seems like they're lucky to have you," he says, "My first Captain was a cruel man. I can't imagine him thinking of us like that."

"I am lucky to have them. And I try to be worthy of the trust they place in me." Too much trust. Worship. But the fire of their faith in him blazes too hot to smother.

A soft sigh. A reflexive little movement -- the kind of thing that in his armor, would call up whole new streams of data, tell him what was happening halfway across the galaxy. But here, stripped down to skin and cloth and nothing more, it is just his fingertips against Terry's side.

"It varies, it seems. They are disparate skills, to perform and to lead."

"Yes. They are."

Said with some sadness in his voice. Terry thought he could escape the clutches of his cruel superiors and take charge on his own, and he utterly failed at it. He needs someone to lead him, even if they aren't kind to him.

"I'm not one of your men, but I'm grateful for your help nonetheless. If there's a way I can repay you, let me know."

"A generous offer." And not one that he will refuse. "How long have you been in that village? I require information, foremost."

(A better pair of shoes and a weapon would also be nice, but they come in a distant second to knowledge.)

"A few months," he says, "I'm in charge of the fight club back in town. What is it you want to know?"

Terry was thinking he'd repay the favor with something like a nice, sensual massage but he supposes he can answer some questions first.

TEST DRIVE MEME 003

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