TEST DRIVE MEME 001

[rubimods]

⚰︎ ⍢ ⌲ ⍚ TEST DRIVE MEME:

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: nudity, spiders, waxplay, character death, and references to children in proximity to sexual situations.

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Welcome to RUBILYKSKOYE — a dark, horror-smut game where player choices will drive a mod-run storyline about the world and its NPCs. For the first round, this test drive serves as characters' arrival into game.

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.

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

AWAKENING IN PAJAK WOOD

The chirping of partridges in the treetops rouses you. Light barely filters through the canopy, just enough to suggest warmth of the sun. By the time it reaches the forest floor, the daylight has taken on a sickly green tinge. You lie amongst the mosses and ferns, the 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.

Fortunately, you seem to be alone. The birdsong continues 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. Amongst gnarled oaks and moss, you see nothing around. No sign of civilization or sentient life. Movement flickers at the corner of your eye, but it's just a curious animal — brave squirrels or lizards who have come to see what stirs in their home.

Then, like the rippling of the horizon at noontime, the ash-gray soil around you undulates. Sea, not earth. Something else has come to greet you — their grey bodies blended in so easily with the floor, but as you stagger to your feet, you see them. Thousands of spiders roll like waves underfoot. They crawl towards you from the darker edge of the forest.

attack

Individuals who attack the spiders will find the small spiders are easy to kill, but the pheromones released by their corpses draw larger spiders in their place. 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 will attempt to use their webbing to handicap 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.

FAQ: DEATH RULES

hunt

Any aspiring monster-hunters enterprising enough to try to follow the spiders to their nest will move eastward. This way, the forest grows darker and darker — though the sun never grows warm red-gold with sunset.

In the void, the birdsong is replaced by the click of mandibles and the skitter of many legs, but soon it is impossible to see. Even with the brightest magical light does not reach further than a few inches. The air grows heavy and thick, 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. Soon, you cannot move at all.

Turn back while you still can — collapsing out here is dangerous. The void can play tricks on your senses. You may find yourself reliving unhappy memories or hallucinating your worst nightmares.

SETTING: THE VOID

But flee the spiders westward and you will discover that the wood is well-populated with the survival resources that someone might seek — berries bushes and trees bearing stone fruits; sticks and dry leaves to aid in the building of a fire; rocks big enough to fashion into crude weapons; small animals that can be hunted or caught; hike long enough, and you might just find the freshwater stream that runs north-to-south, populated by both poisonous toads and delicious crawdads.

What's more, you may run into others with stories just like yours. Some may have already formed clumsy nudist hiking parties, others may still be naked and confused and processing how they have no memory of how they got here. They all stagger vaguely, as you do, with only the sun for a waymarker — and even that won't last long.

Now is a good time to overcome any hang-ups you have about modesty, as it's going to be a long hike. If you sneak a good look at your new companions, you may four varietals of marks on their bodies. Maybe someone will even point out that you have one, too.

FAQ: CURSE MARKS

EVERY DAY LIKE THE ONE BEFORE

Hike far enough — or long enough that the sun does go down — and signs of life come into view. The glow of fires and lights, the smooth curve of a stone wall. A town sits at the edge of this wood, a reward to the survivors.

The fifty-foot wall of beige stone protecting the town's perimeter has only a single entrance — an iron gate positioned on the southern edge. When you arrive, the gate is already open, welcoming people into town from the winding dirt road. Attentive eyes may note that the road itself bears the mark of many wagon wheels and horse hoofs, but not cars.

guards

The guards grant entry to anyone who attempts a conversation with them. However, if your character is more likely to attempt to sneak in, overcome the guards, or attack them, please reach out HERE.

Inside the wall lies a quaint, historic town with a population around five thousand. The streets are cobbled, and their signs are 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 bank — 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.

No matter what time you pass through the gate, the streets are full of people. The climate of the bustle befits a night market or a busy friday downtown — plenty of people to ogle at your exposed body. But despite any efforts on your part to hide or make excuses, the locals don't seem offended by your nakedness. Even families with children don't gawk or look twice. In fact, the further into town you go, the more you may notice that 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! If anything, they seem to be under the impression that you're naked to participate in the evening's events with the rest of them.

Those still determined to find proper clothing will find that modern clothing stores aren't a thing here. The closest this town has is a tailor's shop, which is closed for religious observance, and a stand in the central marketplace selling scarves and blankets.

Fortunately, the people of the town are very generous! The locals will gladly share what they have with those who ask politely — but those items are as revealing as what they're wearing. You might get a mesh bodysuit or drape outfit. Remember not to be ungracious! it's only appropriate for the occasion.

steal clothing

Anyone unwilling to ask nicely for help could break into someone's house or yard to steal some of their clean laundry. Notably, inside their homes, the people of the town also appear to own some more modest apparel. Be sure to alert us HERE if your character pursues this option.

SETTING: CRIME

And what is the occasion? The locals are excited and flattered by any interest in their ordinary weekly prayer: 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!

Anyone who chats at length with the townspeople will gather that the locals feel it's better for the newcomers to dive into the deep-end because, since you'll be settling in here, they expect you'll want to participate down the line. They seem to be under the impression that the new arrivals are a boon from their god.

In addition, many of the locals' choice of clothes reveal the same four types of marks on their bodies as the folx who were wandering out in the wood!

ROOM AND BOARD

Once you're tired out, the locals will help you find a place to stay. The boarding house is several stories tall and spacious, accessible through an embellished iron garden gate and obscured by hanging plants, trees, and vines. Beyond the overgrown yard is a bright red door, which opens into a spacious cottage.

The house has clearly been empty for some time — dust has gathered on various furnishings — bedding, sofas, curtains, wooden tables. According to the locals, it has remained empty since its last occupant passed away, and that's all they'll say about that!

Each floor of the house has a shared sitting room, but only the first floor has a kitchen — large enough to support feeding the entire household. Here, a few of the townspeople will help out — they stock the kitchen and help make dinner for the new arrivals.

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.

Comments

[madaboutit]

The air pushed out his nose is too soft to be a snort and too brief to be a chuckle, but it's a good-natured sound.

"You eat meat?"

Not everyone does, come to find out. Which makes foraging far more difficult.

[pigeonblood]

Eyebrows raised. That's not a question one hears often in Ravka. With the volume of individuals that pass through the palace, the occasional allergy needs to be accommodated, but people tend to forget them until they're mentioned. (She must remember for them, and for Kirigan. Any weakness is an exploitable one.) It's oddly conscientious of him.

"I do." She considers that hunting rather than foraging, but whatever aid he's willing to provide, she won't quibble.

[madaboutit]

"Then let's have a walk." At a respectful distance and with a level of caution. Something with a pretty shape can be just as dangerous; sometimes more so. Sweeney isn't about to be lulled into letting his guard down.

That said, sometimes kindness is repaid, and if it's repaid by someone with a pretty shape, all the better.

If she's amenable, he starts to lead them into the brush. He's set up some drop traps and a few snares. Sweeney hasn't been able to do too much, given he had nothing to start with, and the cost/return of time has to be calculated. Luckily, animals also like to eat, and they have a habit of doing so where flora is delicious.

The nearby bushes are speckled with berries, and while the lower branches have been scavenged, there's plenty higher up. Sweeney gestures her towards them, suggesting she should take what she wants while he sees what else he might have caught.

[pigeonblood]

A beat passes before she acquiesces by following. It's not as if he's leading her away from a clearing, into a deep, dark thicket whence she'll never be seen again. Still, she watches his steps carefully and mimics them as best she can, several feet behind. In case he's set any traps to ensnare larger prey.

Reluctantly, she takes her eyes off him to behold the berries. And then she has a hard time looking away. The ground around them looks the same as any they've treaded thus far. Worrying her lip, she waits for him to busy himself before approaching carefully. Her steps are slow, probing. All for naught, she's relieved to find upon closing the distance at last.

With nothing to carry them in, she can't gather more than a handful of berries. And she can't eat them yet, as badly as she wants to. As inviting as they look, a deep luscious red, perhaps slightly past ripe. She's been cautious up to this point and isn't quite ready to place her trust in him. Her spoils in hand, she goes to see how he's getting along.

[madaboutit]

She's only taken a few steps from the bushes when there's a sharp sound. It might have been a shrill scream if it hadn't been so quickly truncated. If she continues on, she'll find him crouched, loosening the snare. Otherwise, he returns to the spot he left her, rabbit in hand.

Cleaning it will be a little tricky, but at least the first part's been managed. Which is honestly more than he'd expected, given the situation he's found himself, cut off from his Lucky Coin.

[pigeonblood]

They meet in the middle. Spying the rabbit in his hand, she realizes what that snap was. She'll give it to him that he must be quite adept at setting traps. Good of him to make it painless and quick.

Genya swallows, knowing this is the meat he mentioned. Under all that fur and stuffed with organs. Even if it hasn't been years since she ranked low enough among the servants to communicate with the kitchen staff directly, rather than delegate the task, meat arrived at the palace from the butcher. She hasn't seen game cleaned since she was a young child, barely tall enough to peek over the table.

It's going to become very clear, very shortly, that her many scars weren't earned in battle.

"Allow me to help in any way I can," she says nonetheless. She's not so squeamish as to pale at the sight of blood. It's the skinning that daunts her. It's best that she watch and learn, however. Accustom herself to the process, if possible. There may be no end to this forest. The sooner she can cease relying on others, the better.

[madaboutit]

The offer is well-received; honestly, Sweeney's found most people to be generally selfish. It's what made him, at the core: humans' greed and a way to funnel it into a shortcut to get what they want. You can toil for something, or you can just trade a Fae for it and circumvent the work. So, this is a nice change of pace. That said, an offering made doesn't make the thing useful. He cocks his head.

"Can ya start a fire?" Because that's going to be annoying as fuck, and he still has to clean this damn thing without a proper knife.

[pigeonblood]

"I can gather wood," she offers. It's rather paltry but it's what she can do. It won't phase her if he scoffs or belittles her. Won't stop her from trying to help, either, though she's not so bullheaded as to get in his way. While Genya did some training with the Second Army, those that didn't brush her off out of turn, it concerned combat skills. How remiss she is now not to have honed those abilities that seemed impractical for her kind of battlefield.

[madaboutit]

It's not a full sigh, more an exhale of resignation. Sweeney had expected to do the heavy lifting, but this is a lot more weight. Though...if she wasn't here, he'd still have to do it. He'd just also have a whole rabbit to himself after. Whatever. He'll make it work. His brow lifts in question.

"You know the different kinds we're gonna need?" Making fire in a hearth isn't the same as making it from nothing.

"Gonna need really fine tinder an' a good amount of kindlin' b'fore we start with the bigger shit."

[pigeonblood]

She's adept at making the most of small victories. She sees it the same way he does: It's work he'd have to do himself, that she can take care of for the both of them. Any time saved can't be underestimated.

"I'm familiar with the process." She can't help but chide him, kindheartedly, even though he can't help but assume her utterly out of her depth. She's yet to demonstrate anything else. And she's quite looking forward to it.

"Take these?" Genya holds the berries out with expectation. It's not really a question. What fits in both her cupped hands, he'll have no trouble carrying in one of his. She gets close enough to pass them at arm's length, then sets out to gather wood -- of the different kinds they'll need.

[madaboutit]

Hm. She's got some sass. Sweeney isn't sure if she's going to put her money where her mouth is, but at the end of the day, it doesn't really matter. Her request does put a crinkle of confusion in his brow, but he opens his hand to take her shit. Man, it would be nice to have a pouch.

Hands full, he turns as she heads out.

"Goin' back." To where she'd found him, so she knows where to do so again when she's done.

[pigeonblood]

"I won't go far," she assures audibly over her shoulder.

As focused as she appears to be, she listens acutely for him to do as he says. Every step he takes is a mark in favor of his character. Ironically (though she doesn't know it), Genya can hardly believe her luck. A stranger who isn't only unfamiliar with Ravka -- and its recent politics -- but who is decent, besides. The penny is sure to drop at any moment.

Wood is plentiful. It doesn't take her long to have her arms laden with what they need. She'd have used her own hair for tinder had it been necessary, and it will not be. Would have smelled awful, anyway. She returns to him and kneels to lay it on the ground, so that she can begin to arrange it. Genya knows how to do so such that a flame will catch. What she lacks is the experience to spark a flame herself. Friction or flint, yes, but she'd struggle to action that knowledge. Nothing can stand in for practice and experience.

[madaboutit]

By the time she's returned, he's sitting and making further process on the small stone he'd been flinting before she found him. It's far from a knife, but it should work well enough to make dinner. Her berries are piled beside him.

Sweeney pauses to look up at her, and his expression eases; he's pleased to see the quality of her haul. By the time she gets to arranging, she's even earned a small smile, though it's directed at his work. It's still obvious if she looks at him, and if she doesn't, well. The appreciation is still there.

"You know how ta dress game?" He takes a moment to check the edge he's been working on and flicks his gaze up at her.

[pigeonblood]

Leaning back on her heels, crooked finger perched pensively on her lips, she contemplates if she can improve the little tent of sticks at all. He summons her attention then, already looking at her. Which means he must have looked at her work, and he hasn't made any remarks on it. Should be good enough then.

"I don't." She gets to her feet and approaches steadily, shedding her earlier reticence to get too near to him. It's not gone for good, just set aside. Genya crouches down across from him, though not without thought. Her knees shield her chest, ankles and calves close together. He has her full attention, which is all he should need. Unless he plans for her to get hands on with this demonstration.

[madaboutit]

Where she has some attempt at decorum, Sweeney is in no way mindful of his nakedness, save to protect himself for environmental dangers. At her answer, the wheels in his brain get turning again, working to calculate the next course of action.

He squints at the edge of the trees nearest them, then tips his head their direction.

"Should be a fallen tree o'er there. Down fer a good while. If ya can loosen some sheets'a bark--" He sets down the rocks to hold his hand up in illustration of size. The desired goal is around 8x12". "--it'd make the fire a bit easier an' give us somethin' ta set shit on."

[pigeonblood]

Oh, she's noticed how at ease he is in his skin and nothing else. She's noticed more about him than she dares to let on. It's not the time for such thoughts. Rarely ever is for her, making their sublimation effortless.

Genya glances in the indicated direction, then back to him.

"Alright." She doesn't mind getting her hands dirty. With a confirming nod, she straightens up, then heads off towards the trees. She looks back once, checking on him before stepping out of sight behind a trunk.

[madaboutit]

His gaze follows her for a few moments longer as she walks away, but he forces it back to the task at hand. Sweeney's eyes dart over the items as he calculates the process he intends, keeping things organized for efficiency.

Should she come back victorious, he accepts her offering with quiet gratitude, taking it with a small tip of his head. The goal is to set the tinder on the underside of the bark so he can light it without having to do so inside the wood she's arranged; he can just tuck it under once it's lit. He thinks there's enough spark in the stone flinting to accomplish it, but just in case, he's rubbed a rounded head onto a straight stick. The crude blade should be enough to dig a hole in the bark to set the tip into.

Sweeney peeks up at her.

"You able ta tend this once I get 'er up an' runnin'?"

Starting a fire is quite different than keeping it going, and given her knowledge of wood kinds and placement, he's guessing she has at least some experience with it.

[pigeonblood]

She doesn't mind getting her hands dirty. The bark is more stubborn than she bargained for, and takes digging her nails under for purchase. First she has to pry, then peel, a process that takes several attempts as the bark breaks apart into smaller pieces. Her nails break. She doesn't mind. How precious is she that this is the most frustrating part of this awful day?

Genya keeps at it until as many nails have snapped as haven't, and she finally has three decent sheets of bark. The labor draws angry tears from her, but it's over before they can fall. It takes her a moment to calm herself down. She tailors her nails back into immaculate shape, albeit much shorter. Banishing the wetness from her eyes with as many blinks as it takes, she then pointlessly pushes her mussed hair back from her face and takes a deep breath.

Returning with her bounty, she appears no worse for wear. Once handed over, she looks closely at the tools he's made. A little annoyed she missed that process, his question has her reaching again into a deep well of patience. Seems a lot less full all of a sudden.

"Yes, I can tend a fire." The cordialness of her tone, previously fluid, is stiff.

[madaboutit]

There may have been something faintly off about her when she returned, but there isn't any obvious display to confirm the feeling, so Sweeney lets it go and repositions.

His large form curls forward as he situates the tinder on the bark and takes up the stones. He keeps his face low so that when the spark catches, there's less effort to control the burn. Something about the process is a little strange; not the steps, they're straightforward: repetitive striking of one stone against the other casting flickers of light. It's the ease of the thing. Sweeney's clearly well-practiced at it, but there's also an aspect to his movements that are a little too fluid for a man his size, and large hands have oddly nimble fingers.

The tinder catches, and a slow breath coaxes it to stability before his focus turns to getting the infant flame beneath the rest of the wood she's positioned.

[pigeonblood]

Having nothing to do but watch and wait helps her to ground herself. His capability and focus make that easier. He seems to know exactly what he's doing. He's patient with it, where she wouldn't blame him for succumbing to frustration. He coaxes sparks from the stones and each attempt is as precise as the last. Brute force wouldn't help here and she's glad he knows that.

When a tiny flame blooms on the tinder, Genya crouches beside him to closely observe how he nurses it. How slow and soft the breath, how responsive the fire. Her own breath is held, as a wayward wind could rob them of all their progress. Her hands clutch her scuffed knees, eye trained intently on the meagre ember on which all her hopes depend.