rubimemes | TEST DRIVE MEME 001

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TEST DRIVE MEME 001

⚰︎ ⍢ ⌲ ⍚ 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.

✧ ✧ ✧

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

In theory, she ought to be chiding him for admitting to breaking the rules, Pope's rules, so carefully enforced. But of course she knew there were games, and the easier subterfuge: her boys and her girls got up to predictable trouble, and so long as they brought themselves back relatively unscathed, who was she to say a word? And she'd rather smile at the memory of Michael Turner than feel the ache, yet again, of his death. Or Bossie's.

So, her smile is small. But still there.

"Of course not," she murmurs fondly. "And did you keep him out of trouble?"

"I kept him in one piece," he says, which is not quite the same thing but that was Turner: he was always up to something. "He tried to get me a nice French girl to be a pen pal."

"Of course he did," Leah murmurs, pausing briefly to grab a sturdy branch, and a stone, and begin sharpening the end into a point. They learned to use spears. To kill with their hands. They all learned how to survive. Now, yet again, the lesson becomes relevant. "How many pen pals did he end up with?"

"Two, I think. Pope wasn't real keen on him keeping either of 'em." So Turner had let them go, just like Bossie and so many others let their outside relationships go. Even before they knew they were Chosen, they were a tight group, a secretive group.

He picks up a hefty stick, tests its weight, decides it'll do as a club until he comes up with something better.

No, Leah thinks briefly, he wouldn’t have been. And so they closed ranks, even at the very beginning. It was the only way and she sees that now. How else could it have ended? How else would they have endured if they hadn’t found each other, committed themselves to the creed?

Pope forgot what mattered, though. They were a family before they were anything else. She won’t forget that. And whatever else happens, she’ll keep Bossie safe—the way she’s meant to keep all of them safe.

“We keep our distance if we see anyone,” she orders softly. “We need to understand what we’re up against.”

No more rushing in. No more mistakes.

It's so counterintuitive at this point. You see a warm body, you chase it down and cut it apart. You see a cold body, you do much the same. It makes everything easy.

He looks at her though and he nods. She's in charge. "Unless they got clothes there's not much use for them anyway, right?"

Her gaze flicks to him. "We need to know where we are. What they have."

This took people. It didn't just happen. And if it took people, it might have taken a full group.

"No more mistakes. Understand?"

No more mistakes. He's made some; they all have. His cost Turner his life though so he swallows, he nods.

"No more mistakes," he says quietly, chastened. "I'll play nice."

He goes quiet and Leah watches him for a moment as they walk, then nods. If she gives him clear orders, a steady path to follow, then he’ll walk it. It’s just a matter of keeping him steady—more than the others, in some ways. Maybe in a lot of ways.

But she froze, once. He doesn’t seem to remember. That won’t happen again.

“We’re strongest together,” she adds, because it ought to be said. “We always were.”

"Yeah they fucked up letting us get back together," Bossie says. There's no force as deadly as theirs.

"Wish they'd let me keep my boots though." They've done barefoot training before but he hates this as much now as he did during those tests. He pauses to pick a thorn out of his heel.

“They’ll regret it,” she promises softly. She hasn’t yet reckoned with the full meaning yet. If Bossie’s here, and alive, does that mean turner is too? What about the others? Is Pope?

She puts that thought away. There’s another task in front of them now. She finishes sharpening her spear and lets the stone fall from her hand.

“I wonder why. There’s alway a reason.”

"It's a game. It has to be. Fuckers are playing with us." It's the sort of thing Turner talked about doing sometimes, but the raids were always too quick for that sort of cruelty. Something Bossie was always shamefully, quietly grateful for.

“Maybe.”

She never liked that sort of thing but there were times when it served a purpose. They strung corpses from trees to meet a specific outcome, kept their prisoners disoriented and in pain. All for a certain end, because the calculus of survival has never been gentle and they know that better than most. Pope taught them and he wasn’t wrong about it, even if he lost his way by the end.

“It’s not cold enough to kill us. Disorient, sure. But we’re mobile now. Unless they’re watching through scopes, we’ve got maneuverability—that’s a risk.”

A big one, considering.

"You think they might try to herd us?" Another thing the Reapers frequently did. He looks around them but they are, as far as he can tell, entirely alone.

"Yes."

It's said calmly.

"I would. I'd use dogs."

"Unless it's aliens," he says, giving her a twitch of a smile.

"We stick together. No matter what." He pauses, hesitates. "You know I never left Mike, right?"

Because he sensed doubt in Pope. It kills him that anyone who knows him would think he'd let a brother die.

"Aliens," she murmurs - but there is something odd about this place, a strangeness she can't quite explain beyond their nakedness and Bossie come back from the dead to walk at her side again.

She'll question it later. First, they have to survive it.

"I know you didn't." Her eyes flick to him. Serious, again. She remembers what Pope did. The things he said before the fire. All that strangeness, that rising edge she didn't see until after it had crested. "I'm not going to leave you, either."

"I know." His expression, the little smile, is earnest, utterly trusting. It never crossed his mind she'd leave him behind. "But you might have to give me a piggie back, Shaw, 'cause I swear to God my feet are going to be killing me if we don't find better ground."

He looks so very young then and something tightens in her chest. She thinks unbidden of Turner, of Matthew, of all the ones they've lost. And she thinks of Austin and Washington shot in the back, dead on the ground because she, yet again, swallowed the words of a liar. Maybe Daryl would have held his word but it was never quite about him in that moment, was it?

There are other concerns now. She has Bossie at her side. The rest will fall into place.

Her smile quips. Small, but there. "I don't think my shoulder can take it. But we'll find something to wrap your feet."

The gunshot fucked up her mobility somewhat. No PT after the world ended. But she survived it with nothing but a scar to show.

"Nah I'm just bitching." She's safe to gripe to, even jokingly, because she won't punish him for it. "I'm fine."

He leans back, looking at her shoulder. At a scar he doesn't remember her having before. Not that he's seen her naked often--sometimes but not often--but he knows how often his people are injured and he knows how bad they get hurt. He'd remember her being shot. "What happened to you?"

Ah, Leah thinks. Because he doesn't know - how could he? Her expression remains neutral as she walks. She remembers the pain, the physicality of it, but what sunk much deeper was the knowledge that her people had fallen. That they trusted her, and she couldn't keep them alive any more than Pope could.

She has a second chance now. She'll protect Bossie. She'll cut down anyone who so much as looks at him wrong and hang them from the nearest tree. Leave them swaying so the message is understood.

Pope was right about that, at least. Brutality is a universal language.

"A lesson." Her gaze flicks to him. "Pope's dead."

He stumbles and stops. "What? What do you mean- when? How?"

Pope can't be dead. He just saw him, standing over him, hand in Bossie's hair, telling him he did right by Turner. He just saw him standing in the dark as Leah brushed embers from her clothes.

She doesn't stop. She keeps going and that ought to prompt him to follow suit, or risk getting left behind. It's easier to cut the emotion out of it. Forward momentum - that's the trick now, she thinks.

"The enemy gets over the wall," she says, without much emotion at all. "Dixon betrays us."

There's no one more solid than Bossie when there's an enemy right in front of them.

But there isn't right now. There's just this truth that Leah has dropped on his shoulders and he crumples, tries to follow her and stumbles.

No, no no no nononono...

"How? How?"

It doesn't work. That much is clear immediately. He stumbles, and she thinks back again to Turner's body laid out on the cot. Bossie sobbing, and Pope's low-burning rage. All the signs she didn't see under the cloud of her own grief.

She stills, turning back to him. Then she exhales and puts a hand on the back of his neck, squeezing.

"It doesn't matter now. We keep fighting."

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