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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
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
the fool | tawny man trilogy | niez
Awakening
The Medicine Seller raises his free palm, draws is back and plunges it forward into open air, sending the spiders toppling ass over cephalothorax.
He turns to the Fool, expression dispassionate, gesturing in a westerly direction.]
Run.
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that is the look the Medicine Seller is treated to when he turns to deliver his instructions, which, true to his name, the Fool ignores. he frowns and seizes hold of his rescuer's bare arm.] What about you? There are so many of them, surely you don't intend to take them on yourself..!
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It is easier --
[There is a halting, monotone sluggishness to his speech, like words are uncomfortable intruders in his mouth.]
-- to hold them off --
[His expression doesn't change much, but there's the slightest narrowing of the eyes, suggestive of a pointed look.]
-- if you are not behind me.
[Do you really want to be in the line of fire? Really?]
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The forest starts to thin, and the spiders seem to have fallen behind, finding that the fleeing duo are not worth the calories it would take to chase them down. There is easier prey to had in the woods.
As they slow to a light jog, then a walk, the Medicine Seller turns to his impromptu companion.]
Did you also awake here?
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it takes him a moment to register that the strange man who saved him is speaking to him now. he blinks and drags in one more steadying breath, opens his mouth to respond--and immediately becomes aware of his own nakedness. now his face flushes with colour for other reasons, but there is no easy way to cover himself without drawing attention to, well, that which he wishes to cover up. and so he doesn't.]
I did, yes--and thank you, for helping me. If you hadn't been there, well. [he speaks lightly, affably, once he manages to regain his breath, though he looks his rescuer over with shrewd amber-coloured eyes even so.] I am called the Fool. What should I call you?
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[He gives a polite bow to the stranger - the Fool. It's rare humans take on such non-names, but he can't pretend that it is particularly surprising to his ears either.]
I am of littler import. Just a Medicine Seller.
[He takes a look down at his state of undress, with little more than his absurdly long curtain of wild hair to provide him some semblance of modesty.]
Though it seems I have been stripped of not only my clothes --
[There's a disgruntled wrinkle of his nose.]
-- But also my livelihood.
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wax on wax off
He stands at the Fool's side, looming. As tall as he is, it's hard not to loom. ]
They'll let you join in, if you ask. [ He hasn't participated in this particular ritual today, but he's done it in the past. Judging by the way the Fool has already cloaked himself he may not be willing to take that step just yet, but it's still good to know. ]
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still, he is quick to recover his composure, and laughs dryly.] Will they now? [he replies, a peculiar little smile at the corners of his lips. he arches his eyebrows and peers back towards the ritual, watching as the wax drying on the stranger's skin loses its viscosity and becomes solid. without looking away from the spectacle, he leans just a fraction nearer to Terry to whisper (well, stage-whisper),] I daresay I have seen many uses for candle wax where I am from--but willingly pouring it across one's skin! How novel.
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[ Unless you count a party with a few dozen attendees as public. But there's a difference between a rich man's debauched party and doing it right out in the open where anyone could see. But he's never been a modest sort, so it didn't take much to convince him to try. ]
You're new here, aren't you? I arrived about a month ago now, and I've come to realize that the people here aren't shy.
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[it isn't a rhetorical question, but the Fool won't put Terry on the spot by expecting an answer. he waves a hand artlessly at his inquiry.] Very new, yes, [he affirms and picks lightly at the red sheer cloak draped around his shoulders. it does a passable job at preserving the Fool's modesty, but it can't completely conceal the intricate tattoo spanning the whole of his back and shoulders.] I awoke in the woods this morning, and it was quite an eventful walk into town. [not the 'good' kind of eventful, either.]
Ah, where are my manners--I am called the Fool. [he's serious.] What should I call you?
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[ But he can't just let all of his secrets go at once. It's no fun if there's nothing left to the imagination. ]
I'm Terry Silver, but just Terry is fine. [ He takes a second to look him over and admire the tattoo, trying to piece out where a name such as the Fool might come from. ] Is that a stage name, of some sort?
wildcard.
John is busy with what could, from a distance, look like carving, but on closer inspection he's working bone with his bare hands, thumbing chunks into carefully even rectangular prisms, slicing away flakes of bone with his thumbnail. A small pile sit beside him; he's making ivory keys for a piano.
Though minute bone manipulation isn't his forte, he thinks it's good for him to keep practicing his theorems if he's going to have to suffer through the loss of godhood.
He glances up before the Fool is even close — sensing something odd about him, perhaps. His eyes are black vortexes, nothing but a slim ring of white around the oilslick irises, and the weight of his direct gaze is Earth's gravity, even without his connection to Alecto, an impossible sense of divinity that he tends to use deliberately.
"Hi," he says, and the sensation passes, and he's just a guy smiling at the Fool from his seat on the ground.
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(It's the unfathomable weight of John's gaze when it lands on him. The Fool has felt the world change before him like this only twice in his life: when he found his Catalyst in FitzChivalry Farseer, and when, his new face complete beneath Amber's gentle fingers, Paragon had opened his blue eyes for the first time.
so, you know, be cool, man)"Hello," the Fool replies, smile for peculiar smile, and takes a few careful steps closer to John beneath the shade tree. Curious, he looks between the bone as it is shaped in John's hands, to the pile of rectangular prisms at his side.
"What an unusual past-time I appear to have interrupted." Securing his red, slightly sheer cloak around himself, he settles down into the grass beside him, legs folded neatly beneath his weight like a settling deer. Giving John a quick glance, he reaches out towards the keys with a curiously gloved hand. "May I?"
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Bone holds warmth well, and it's doing so now, residual heat from the manipulation he used to carve them and the slant of sunlight over the scattered pile making them just a little warm to the touch. A piano needs fifty-two white keys and he's managed about fifteen today, but they're each well shaped and polished despite there being no tools here. Lovingly so; he doesn't play, but someone he's falling in love with can, and he wants to surprise him. Maybe a little of that is in the bonewarmth, too.
"Know anything about pianos?" he asks, hoping the telepathic translation will iterate that to whatever kind of keyboard instrument word this new person's world has.
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"I once had a little harp, small and petite enough to be neatly packed away in one's saddlebag for long journeys." A wistful twist to his lips as he sets the key back down beside its brethren. "It did not make the trip with me, unfortunately."
(Inexorably, his attention is drawn back to the movements of John's fingers as he shapes the bone in his grasp, then up to his strange and alien eyes.)
"I am called the Fool," he says, and looks perfectly serious as he says it. "What should I call you?"
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He places down the ivory pieces in the grass, in a line like a keyboard between them, little white teeth. "Imagine them each with a little hammer. You press the key down," he taps a key, pointlessly, "The hammer swings up, taps a string to play a note. It's all held together in wooden casing. I'm a long way from being anywhere with it, but I figured I could do the bone first and figure out the rest later."
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But: "The keys do seem an integral component, which makes them as good a place as any to begin," the Fool replies drolly and smiles, then shifts some where he sits to better view the keys as they are laid out before him on the grass. It helps; his artistry has always been visual media, and while he did not know what a piano was five minutes ago, he has rather a clear idea of what one is now. (That, or a much less wrong idea.)
"I have not yet tried carving bone," he remarks and settles his hands back into his lap. "Wood is my preferred medium, but I believe our technique may be similar." That's an oblique way of saying he can warp stuff with his fingers, too.
(The Fool can't tell whether John is Skill-touched, but he does glance towards his fingertips every so often, trying to see if he can catch a glimpse of silver there.)
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wax on, wax off
at least, he figures to himself, he might provide a good enough meal for some beast if he wanders far enough outside of the town, back into the deep, dark woods. it's his intention, lead there more by his feet than his mind, but the sudden insight of familiarity has him perking up, the very slightest connection of the skill bond stirring him into wakefulness, away from his dark thoughts. it's then that he sees the tawny man, the gilded way his glints and shines despite any shadows near him, as if his very existence defies the common laws of ordinary men. this man is not ordinary, fitz knows. he is, ultimately, the prophet to his catalyst — and in someways, the light to his dark. perhaps it's the foul mood fitz has been in thus far that makes him seem all the more ethereal, perched like a dove with all the implied tidings of peace on the horizon.
again, his feet make the choice, stepping up to the golden man from behind and wrapping him tight in an embrace. )
Oh, my Fool.
( lifting him with a certain ease makes it feel like he does have birdbones. fitz is suddenly positive if he keeps hugging him this tightly, he'll crush him into dust, despite the hardiness the fool has shown in times before. with that thought, he sets him back down on his feet, worrying his lower lip between his teeth, a steady stream of tears falling from his eyes. )
Er, or‚ Lord Golden, perhaps? Sir?
( a very smooth recovery, he thinks. )
!!!!!
Fitz..!
[he reaches up both hands--one as ever gloved to cover up the silver on his fingertips--to frame his friend's face, staring into his eyes with sudden, grief-stricken intensity. tears well up along his lashline.] You brave idiot, [he accuses him, voice thick with emotion,] what have you done to end up here?
[here, in this place, where others seem to have arrived after their own deaths--the same as him. without waiting for a response, the Fool flings both arms around Fitz's shoulders and embraces him fiercely, muffling a wet noise of pain against his neck. look out he's about to ugly cry.]
😭 boys!!!
Surprisingly little, for once.
( it's the most perfect kind of non-answer that, fitz thinks, gives the fool a taste of his own medicine. that it just so happens to be true has never stopped the fool from weaving his own tapestries of unsatisfying, confusing words. truth be told, the mystery of this place is discomforting to a man as deadset on knowing all as fitz is — he'll take the comfort he can find in the fool, his oldest friend, the smallest sliver of an unfaithfully cruel home. that is to say, he winds his arms back around the fool without an ounce of shame, mentally comparing his snuffling cries to the sounds of newborn puppies squeaking out their first attempts at howls. he hears the ghost of nighteyes' wolfish cackle, and prods that missing part of himself again like a loose tooth.
anyway, he can see over the fool's shoulder now, and it's safe to say the act on display scandalizes the vaguely noble-y raised prince's son with him. )
Fool. ( now his tone is rebuking. a hand cups the back of his gilded hair as if to keep his head nestled against his neck, like protecting a child's gaze from a nearby whorehouse with the merchandise on display. ) How can you be so completely without shame?
( it's the more important thing to focus on right now, obviously. )
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Oh stop that, Fitz, [he snaps back without any real bite in his voice. his bare hand comes up to cradle Fitz's cheek again.] You may carry shame enough for the both of us, if it pleases you, but I have had my fill of it for one lifetime. My shame remains in Aslevjal, and there it can stay. It has hounded me long enough.
[still, there is a difference between shamelessness and poor manners, and the Fool does not wish to disturb the ritual more than he already has. looping both arms around Fitz's elbow, he guides him away from all the naked torsos and spilling candle wax towards an unoccupied bench beneath a shade tree across the street. this late at night, there is no sunlight to seek protection from, but it provides at least the illusion of privacy, and that is what the Fool craves. he sinks down onto the bench and pulls Fitz along with him. and, as soon as he's seated, he immediately asks,] What happened on Aslevjal? Did you succeed in freeing Icefyre? [and, in a gentler voice, brows drawn together with worry,] Are you hurt?
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it doesn't cross his mind to pull away from the fool and insist on watching as a judgmental, but very rapt, voyeur. he has no intention to be apart from him, only following where he leads, eyes lazily drifting over his shoulder to watch the disappearing show with a weird sense of longing. well. it hasn't been so long since he last saw starling. not that he intends to again. )
What? ( he probably should've been paying attention. turning his focus back fully on the fool, his brows knit, but he smiles indulgently, trying to peel back layers and see whatever game the fool is playing. ) Icefyre? No — I'm well enough, and Dutiful is ... Well, I don't know where he is. I should be asking you if you're hurt, old friend. I had every intention of coming back for you and Nighteyes.
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softer than a whisper, he says,]
You don't remember.
[could the journey here have stripped Fitz of his memories of all that transpired before his journey to Aslevjal? or--and perhaps this possibility should have occurred to him first, for it is the more heartbreaking alternative--had he found his way back to the Stone Garden? had he found some way to give all of his memories to Girl-on-a-Dragon, or to Verity-as-Dragon? rather than remember Nighteyes' death, or his death, had he chosen to forget?
the Fool closes his eyes and presses his lips into a line, turning his face away.] Oh, Fitz.
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