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TEST DRIVE MEME 004
⚰︎ ⍢ ⌲ ⍚ 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: the universal test drive arrival prompt will not be repeated on the coming event log, but players are welcome to reuse the prompt.
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: spiders, animated skeletons, aphrodisiac effects, exhibitionism/voyeurism, bdsm, kink negotiation, knifeplay, potential dismemberment.
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
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: the universal test drive arrival prompt will not be repeated on the coming event log, but players are welcome to reuse the prompt.
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: spiders, animated skeletons, aphrodisiac effects, exhibitionism/voyeurism, bdsm, kink negotiation, knifeplay, potential dismemberment.
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.
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.
You seem to be alone. 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 despite the growing chill.
wildlife encounters
The longer you hike, the more unsettling sights await you: animal remains, some partially stripped of their flesh or discarded entrails left exposed to the cold. As you continue on your way, you might even swear you catch a glimpse of what appears to be a fully-formed skeletal creature observing you from a distance. Surely, that’s just your mind playing tricks on you... These creatures may be unsettling, but they show no signs of aggression to folks who keep their distance.
In the forest, you may run into others with stories just like yours. Some may have already formed clumsy nudist groups, others may still be processing their confusion, with no memory of how they got here. Now is a good time to overcome any hang-ups you have about modesty; it's going to be a long hike, and the weather isn't quite amenable to your lack of.
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.
breaking and entering
If you intend to have your character break into someone's house or yard to steal some of their clean laundry, please review the info about game laws on the FAQ and give the mods a heads up HERE.
Fortunately, the people of the town are very generous! Anyone who ask the locals will be directed 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. It's already full of people who appeared in the village just as you did today.
Tonight, a few of the townspeople will help out with the new arrivals. They stock the kitchen and prepare a communal dinner of parsnips, pheasant, and squash. During dinner, they (and those outsiders who've already begun to settle) sit down at the enormous wooden dining room table and help orient the newcomers and answer their questions.
finding roommates
Don't spend too much time in the dining room going for seconds, 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.
Get a good night's rest. By the light of day, locals will help get the new arrivals set up on the coal stove with breakfast. You may notice they're dressed in a way you would almost call normal — at least, in a manner befitting 19th century Eastern Europe. As you find your way around town to get your bearings, folks are eager to help you find a place to apply your skills so you can contribute to your new home.
writer's block?
If you're struggling to pick a way to engage the prompts, try: naked hiking, acquiring clothing or other inventory items, asking questions at dinner/orientation, or staking your claim on a bedroom!
RECUMITA
The festival fills the streets with dancing locals and all the stuffs of a street market. Despite the challenges posed by the snow-in-summer, farmers are grateful to announce that the situation is not as dire as initially feared. As a result, the harvest festival of Recūmita becomes a celebration of unity and gratitude to their fellow townspeople for salvaging an almost-frozen harvest, the Duchess' magic for protecting and reviving it, and the 'Void-Touched' who braved the Void to strengthen her.Over the weekend, all regular work is put on hold, except for the necessary festival preparations. The streets come alive with vibrant stalls and stands, offering a wide array of delectable treats and refreshing beverages. From barrels of beer and cups of kvas to mouthwatering roasted meats, delightful squash-based dishes like pumpkin latkes, honey-glazed brussel sprouts on skewers, hot borscht in both pork and vegetarian variations, and tantalizing mushrooms stuffed with leeks, cranberries, and bryndza cheese, there is an abundance of flavors to indulge in.
The first day of the festival transforms the streets into a bustling night market, where shopkeepers organize an assortment of carnival-style games. Test your strength in arm-wrestling contests or challenge your pain tolerance in contests where individuals whip each other to determine who yields first, whether to pain or pleasure. In one corner, Terry's Rubean student sets up an unsanctioned fighting tournament, while in another area, a path of hot coals awaits the daring souls who wish to traverse it. Instead of traditional pie-throwing stands, knife-throwing stands attract participants who willingly become targets.
Enthusiastic Rubeans, particularly those involved in integrating the Void-touched, take it upon themselves to enhance the festivities. They recruit local participants and willing Void-touched individuals to partake in an impromptu stage performance, with no need for rehearsals. Come as you are and join the spectacle! Once the performance begins, the passion and excitement behind their efforts become truly evident, as all the performances call for explicitly sexual or violent acts to be performed together.
writer's block?
If you're struggling to pick a way to engage the prompts, try entering the fighting rings, watching or joining a live sex performance, or eating some aphro food (deliberately or otherwise)!
the fathomless dark
At the outer edges of the forest, shadows grow long and the air grows thick. Though the sun never grows warm red-gold with sunset, the wood darkens. Birdsong is replaced by the click of mandibles and the skitter of many legs. Anyone who ventures out this way will soon find it difficult to see before them, even in the middle of the day — eventually, even the brightest magical light source or darkvision cannot stretch further than a few inches. In the void, the air feels heavy, as if it were not air at all but some more solid mass. Almost like liquid-smoke, it presses down upon you. Slowing your movements. Characters who push too far into the void may stop being able to move at all, and find themselves given over to insanity if they collapse, unable to draw themselves out. This is just one of many dangers.
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.
In addition to the spiders, you may come across the sharp-toothed furred yetis that emerged during the snowstorm, still looking for a meal. Each one hunts alone, a fifteen-foot-tall shambling creature that drips black ooze and super-chills the air around it until your skin feels tight and icy. If it gets the drop on you, you're likely to be its dinner. It has emerged from a long summer hibernation to enjoy the colder weather, and it's starving.
Those who seem lucky enough not to run afoul of the monsters here are in for a worse fate. 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.
writer's block?
If you're struggling to pick a way to engage the prompts, try fighting a monster, hallucinating your worst nightmares, and/or attacking a friend or stranger!
HIDING INSIDE EACH OF US
Uh oh spaghetti-os.
The marks worn by all residents of Rubilykskoye aren't just cool body art, as it turns out. The town is full of rumors, whispered in shadows and over candles of a starving creature hiding in the dark corners of your chest. Feed your inner beast, they say, before it finds a way to feed itself.
Alas, its emergence is inevitable — sooner or later, the horrible things that happen here pile up and make someone repulsed by the idea of human contact. Someone holds themselves back, bites their tongue, or simply does not believe the stories. Today, for one reason or another, that creature is coming out. Someone hasn't been keeping it sated.
Symptoms escalate over weeks, from monstrous irritability to full-blown body horror transformation, where people physically shed their human forms and evolve into the monsters this place made them. Once a person becomes something more (or less) than human there's only one way to go back — sate the beast.
Rubilykskoye's performance troupe is thrown into a state of panic as they make a shocking discovery: Vyanchaslav, their unofficial manager and conductor, has vanished without a trace! Vyanchaslav plays a crucial role in the troupe, overseeing small inter-troupe matters and having the final say on casting and rehearsal time. He is known for his reliability, making his sudden disappearance all the more perplexing, especially right before a major event.
The last time anyone saw Vyanchaslav was in their usual rehearsal space, just before a crucial run-through of their upcoming performance. His absence during that rehearsal was highly unusual, and it left the troupe members worried and confused. They are now frantically trying to piece together what might have happened to him.
As they search for Vyanchaslav, they notice a faint sound lingering in the air – the distant whine of a fiddle. However, there is something unsettling about it. As they follow the source of the sound, the room grows darker, and an eerie chill runs down their spines. Those who draw close enough to properly hear Vyanchaslav's song will feel inclined to dance themselves til their feet bleed, til their lungs give out. That is, provided they don't cut a devil's bargain with him first, selling something else to the devil in exchange for their freedom.
(There are other monsters lurking in every townsperson — feel free to invent your own npc monsters and scenarios!)
The marks worn by all residents of Rubilykskoye aren't just cool body art, as it turns out. The town is full of rumors, whispered in shadows and over candles of a starving creature hiding in the dark corners of your chest. Feed your inner beast, they say, before it finds a way to feed itself.
Alas, its emergence is inevitable — sooner or later, the horrible things that happen here pile up and make someone repulsed by the idea of human contact. Someone holds themselves back, bites their tongue, or simply does not believe the stories. Today, for one reason or another, that creature is coming out. Someone hasn't been keeping it sated.
Symptoms escalate over weeks, from monstrous irritability to full-blown body horror transformation, where people physically shed their human forms and evolve into the monsters this place made them. Once a person becomes something more (or less) than human there's only one way to go back — sate the beast.
someone else transforms
Rubilykskoye's performance troupe is thrown into a state of panic as they make a shocking discovery: Vyanchaslav, their unofficial manager and conductor, has vanished without a trace! Vyanchaslav plays a crucial role in the troupe, overseeing small inter-troupe matters and having the final say on casting and rehearsal time. He is known for his reliability, making his sudden disappearance all the more perplexing, especially right before a major event.The last time anyone saw Vyanchaslav was in their usual rehearsal space, just before a crucial run-through of their upcoming performance. His absence during that rehearsal was highly unusual, and it left the troupe members worried and confused. They are now frantically trying to piece together what might have happened to him.
As they search for Vyanchaslav, they notice a faint sound lingering in the air – the distant whine of a fiddle. However, there is something unsettling about it. As they follow the source of the sound, the room grows darker, and an eerie chill runs down their spines. Those who draw close enough to properly hear Vyanchaslav's song will feel inclined to dance themselves til their feet bleed, til their lungs give out. That is, provided they don't cut a devil's bargain with him first, selling something else to the devil in exchange for their freedom.
(There are other monsters lurking in every townsperson — feel free to invent your own npc monsters and scenarios!)
you waited too long
At first, as you hide yourself from your darker impulses, a subtle itch develops under your skin. An irritability that makes you snap at the person who bumps into you on the stairs because all those fleeting emotions that you've been repressing bubble to the surface. Every dark thought you've had about being here, all the fears of never getting home, of being surrounded by ticking time bombs, the anxiety of wondering who you might hurt or what relationships you might betray by doing what you have to do. The anger. Oh, the anger.
Maybe you shut yourself in your room or run into the woods to hide away, but there's only so much you can do to deny the itch that grows into hunger like a spark catching and growing to wildfire. Someone comes to check on you. That knock on the door or crunch of leaves in the wood that fills you with dread at what you might do and hope that you will be sated.
As claws and fangs and scales and spines and fur grow and your body transforms with a sickening crunch of bones and peeling of skin, so do your appetites. If you won't sate them, you'll lose yourself to your beastly impulses sooner or later, mauling friends and taking your fill. Is it better or worse if only your claws get inside of them?
Maybe you shut yourself in your room or run into the woods to hide away, but there's only so much you can do to deny the itch that grows into hunger like a spark catching and growing to wildfire. Someone comes to check on you. That knock on the door or crunch of leaves in the wood that fills you with dread at what you might do and hope that you will be sated.
As claws and fangs and scales and spines and fur grow and your body transforms with a sickening crunch of bones and peeling of skin, so do your appetites. If you won't sate them, you'll lose yourself to your beastly impulses sooner or later, mauling friends and taking your fill. Is it better or worse if only your claws get inside of them?
Sister Friede | Dark Souls 3 | Skala
[1: The Cold Doesn't Bother Her, Anyway]
[CW: N/A beyond nudity]
[Navigating to the town wasn't really a problem. Travel alone, travel light, travel swift. She doesn't really need to stop and rest, or eat, so she can make pretty good headway. Finding the road is fairly easy, as well. The cold doesn't bring lethargy; she hardly feels it. Ergo, she's likely among the first to make her way out of the forest and into civilization.
Except, there are people on the road, and the closer she gets to town, the more of them there are, which forces her to walk more adjacent to the road than directly on it. Normally, crowds wouldn't bother her, but the problem is... she's nude, and there's really little she hates more than people staring at her scars and asking questions.
So, once she's within a stone's throw of the town she stops, takes a look at the people milling about the entrance, then turns around and walks back against the flow of the arrivals toward the farmlands. It's hard not to notice a near six foot tall woman with bright red burn scars on her flesh, let alone one that is clearly and deliberately going the "wrong" way; getting her attention without offending her might be the harder part.]
[2: Festivals, Who Needs 'Em]
[CW: Blood, violence, background sexual activity]
[Whether because someone talked her into it, or she found out the hard way how difficult trying to find a more private place to gain clothing was outside of the city walls, Friede eventually does make it to the town. Finding women's clothing that involves trousers is difficult (and her inner swordsman refuses to do without - Yuria's proclivity for skirts be damned), so she makes due with a neutral, dark colored, too-big, and even frumpy looking men's ensemble and a half-decent traveling cloak with a deep hood. And no shoes; she never wears them anymore.
She feels more like she can actually get out and explore, after that. An upcoming festival seems a great opportunity for getting to know the local town and culture. They've been very hospitable so far; having been on the other side of such a thing, she distrusts the attitude almost immediately. There must be an ulterior desire here.
Yet, she can't really say what to make of the festival. People seem to be fucking and fighting in equal parts. She's used to violence spilling into the streets - she's from Londor, an asylum for violent criminals outcast from normal society; blood spillage was a rule and not an exception - but the fucking in broad... moonlight is a little different.
Still, she files that away with a vaguely disgusted disinterest, and vows never to be caught dead in such a situation.
What is interesting to her is knife throwing with live targets in the way. It's still hard for her to believe that they're so casual about violence in this place, when none of the inhabitants are immortal, as they are at home. It sates their inner monsters, they say, but she finds that hard to believe. In her experience, it just makes the inner darkness, the inner monsters worse to indulge and not control.
But maybe she'll find out today, as she picks up a handful of knives, and aims. The first three thock noisily into the backboard, at least one wildly off-course. The attendant watches her, with no indication of approval or denial of action, but the one against the board grins a challenge at her.
Is she... supposed to hit them?
She winds up another knife, and this one dead-ons into a thigh, burying the blade halfway before likely nicking bone and coming to a stop. The person hollars in pain, and Friede feels a sort of... amused thrill wind down her spine at the sight of the blood that oozes out from around the wound.
She is not punished for this. Yet, what she really doesn't like is how excited she is to see the blood.
The last knife she sets onto the counter, and shakes her head, then turns to whomever is in line - or at least looks like it - behind her.]
Take it for your own, I think I've seen enough.
[3: It Was Always Going To End This Way]
[CW: Wanton violence and bloodshed, monster transformation]
[There's a monster stalking just outside the town. While it strangely never seems to enter the gate, it also never retreats far. At the center of its patrol route seems to be a lonely, unused wood building.
If a corvid could be a phoenix, it would probably resemble something like the creature that haunts the fields. It burns black, the rumors say, so black, looking at it hurts like staring into the sun. It's blindingly fast, and it casts no shadows as it drops in from above or ambushes from the tallest patches of grass.
Curiously, though, it doesn't seem to be able to fly. One survivor's tale is that one of its wings seems deformed, so beware of trees and rooftops, rather than open skies.
Placations and begging, even mating displays seem to fall on deaf ears and uncaring, glowing eyes. Anyone that comes within the range of its "nest" are to be eviscerated, by claw and beak. Unlike a bird, though, it loves trying to decapitate its prey, scything its claws into the neck, especially from behind.
And inside, what little shred of Friede is left can only think, This is mine, this is mine, get away, again and again.
Friede does little but eschew physical contact, despite the warnings. It was always going to end this way.]
[4: Wildcard]
[Or bring your own! Smut is going to be iffy without some serious buildup, but physical violence is always a possibility.]
2
Really? You looked like you enjoyed that. And look, your target is waiting for another. [Indeed, the knife was still buried in their thigh, but they huffed and puffed and forced themselves upright with a glint of what could only be arousal in their eyes. Someone liked pain.]
Go on.
no subject
She doesn't like that. Loss of control is far from normal for her; if anything, she keeps herself too controlled. And there's no reason for the excessive amounts of violence, even if the person wants it.
She glances at the booth attendant, who motions toward the person tied up with a tilt of his head. So no one is going to stop her.
Friede places her fingers on the handle of the knife, and lifts it, once again. She's a decent aim, and especially against an unmoving target; she could probably give them what they want, she just can't quite decide where.
She supposes she also probably shouldn't kill them, if the goal is pleasure-through-pain. Though, actually...] Are the humans here cursed with undeath?
[It didn't seem like it, but asking the too-welcoming people at that strange cottage was offputting. Not that she thinks this stranger is trustworthy, but they may say something off-handedly that can get her the information she wants.]
no subject
[Ianthe couldn't tell what this woman was - revenant or other as some here seemed to be - but the distinct lack of thalergy from the woman was very noticeable to the lyctor.]
But the woman that rules here, Dutchess Zlatka, resurrects the fallen. Still, death is... frowned upon here, if more accepted than in other realms.
no subject
Her thumb tests the edge of the knife. They truly are sharp.
She pulls it a little further under her sleeve, a slow, purposeful maneuver that predicates an attack. Or at least some kind of defensive maneuver.
Though they're shadowed deep in her still-drawn hood, her violet eyes take stock of the woman. Tall, muscular in a way that tells of good fitness, and...
Her hand is skeletal. It isn't a trick of the light, or a fancy glove, Friede can see through it. Suddenly, the assuredness that someone might try to run her out of this clearly human establishment for being Undead is supplanted by confusion. It isn't totally unheard of for older Hollows to begin to rot and skeletonize, especially not in Londor, but this is... not that.
Yet, for all of that, Friede locks it away, and rather than question the statement, she lifts the knife, turns so she's sideways on to both the person on the board, and the woman behind her, and throws the knife.
It thocks into the board near the person's shoulder, furrowing a deep gouge in their flesh. Not a direct hit, like the one to the leg, but not a light graze, either. Her aim isn't quite that good.
The sight of blood, once again, brings that thrill down Friede's spine that she doesn't like is so involuntary.]
Then it seems I will try to aim beneath the neck and away from the gut.
[But, she has thrown away her weapon.
Or, well, the obvious one.]
But what do you know of undead as I am?
no subject
I see you as a soul of the dead clinging to a corpse, using it as a vessel to continue affecting the living world, likely with some vengeful or at least driving purpose that simply won't allow you to rest.
The details are of little concern to me. You're hardly the first I've come across.
no subject
It's enough to, at least, relax her guard only slightly.]
I see. And given the temporary nature of death here, I'd imagine it was some other unfortunate victim you foisted an arm off of? Though I've never heard of a non-Undead using such parts for themselves if not for decoration.
[And that is her mistaken, but pointed look at the gold skele-arm.]
2
—but hearing her voice helps, in a way. All voices are novel when he's from a world where everyone was forced not to speak if they wanted to live, and hers is no exception.
Box isn't confident picking up words that have been scrambled and faded from his memory, like carvings in stone eroded by time. Thankfully they've been given other ways to communicate, so the word in his mind forms an impression of compliance. The knife is picked up with a grip that's a little too hard, relaxed and held properly shortly after. A dangerous but necessary weapon now meant for entertainment, even if someone must suffer for it. Curiosity has led him to do so many things already, and Box has used weapons for such terrible acts. Throwing just happens to not have been one of them.
Well?, the attendant gestures at Box, but their gaze is set on Friede. You wanna teach him how to do it? ]
no subject
Still, the strange words return, and where before they'd mostly felt distant, this one feels right next to her.
It takes her probably a moment too long, between figuring out the feeling in her mind was an acknowledgement, and that the booth attendant is expectantly looking at her, to try to put together what they're doing.]
You would pick up a knife without knowing how to wield it...? [Her tone is soft enough that it doesn't sound judgmental, simply confused.]
Hold it simply by the handle, and throw straight from above your shoulder. If you are right-handed, keep your right foot forward. [She makes a brief motion with her arm.] I was not punished for hitting this one in the leg, but I do not know what happens if you were to kill them, so perhaps try to aim low.
no subject
If useless in other aspects of communication, Box can at least listen, and with that, follow directions. If she's inclined to mentally visualize her own words, Box will rely on that as much as he does on the cadence of her voice, the start and stop of each sentence. The motion the sound turns into, grounding him in the moment, right foot forward.
He exchanges looks with the attendant, then looks straight ahead. Catching sight of the blood is a slight distraction, not enough to make him hesitate; he throws, bending over slightly when he's not supposed to, waiting to see if there will be more shapes coming out of the target's mouth when it hits—
Plunk. That sound just looks like a straight white line, stark against the warm night. Nothing like what the woman managed to get. It's hard to tell if any of them should be disappointed. He thanks Friede nonetheless, drawing a 'V' in the air with his index, followed by a nod. It means many things for the people of his world, including thank you. Even if it was anticlimactic on his end. ]