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.

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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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

A fair question. Sensible. To answer it truthfully would be the opposite. So would attempting a blatant bluff. If she were with anyone, why would they split up? They'd have to be fools, or as at ease in the wilderness as he appears to be. Obviously she's not, or she'd have a weapon of her own.

The hesitation speaks for itself. There's no camouflaged force she can threaten him with, and she chooses not to lie about one lest it antagonize him.

"I don't know how I came to be here." She raises her gaze to his face. Steady.

Oh, he likes that. Having spent centuries as a Leprechaun, Sweeney can appreciate the navigation of avoiding lies by answering with a different truth. Bravo. His lips threaten the faintest crack of a smile.

"Yeah...me neither." Confession offered in kind.

"You know what ya were doin' b'fore ya woke up in this fuckin' place?" Looking for context seems another logical place to dig around in.

She doesn't have the luxury of believing him, though she has no reason to suspect him of lying. Genya suspects that's how he feels about her. It's not an impasse they can remain at indefinitely, yet she's reticent to make the first move. They can carry on like this, conversing at a distance, for a little longer.

"I'd fallen asleep. Reading, I think." Sleep doesn't come easily to her, and it it can be unkind when it does. But her nightmares have never been anything like this. "In Ravka." She studies his face for any hint of recognition.

Hm. That's not promising. Sweeney doesn't know the name, but if magic brought them here, that means there are a lot of options as to how far that pulling could reach. Her hope of recognition is fruitless.

Still, a trade of information is only fair.

"I was in a fight. In Illinois."

He has no reason to think she knows the first thing about where that is, but you never know.

Just as Ravka meant nothing to him, Illinois fails to register for her. Genya's jaw clenches. They've gleaned nothing from each other, as long as trust is so flimsy. Frustrating. She'll have to ask something to move that needle first.

"Why were you fighting?" She cants her head slightly, her hand rested on the tree trunk she keeps between them. Behind it, her other opens, listening. He may too good a liar, and her prowess with this skill too underdeveloped, for her to detect a falsehood in his pulse. But she has to try.

That's a complicated question, and would be, even if it wasn't asked right out of the gate. Sweeney wets his lip while he looks for a way to put it that's honest, but not overly-convoluted.

"I was tryin' ta e'en the scales b'tween me an' a cunt god." He should have known better than to try without his Coin.

No fluctuation. Seems honest. If she refuses the believe it is, then there is no point in having asked. She won't hold the rough language against him, as long as it doesn't become targeted at her. She's more used to that than colloquially colorful vernacular and it's the last thing she needs at present.

"You defied a god," she clarifies. There are no gods in Ravka, only saints. Defying one earned her the shattered spiderweb of scars all over her body. The pallor in her sightless eye.

"Don't know if I'd call it 'defyin''." Grimnir was the one being a prick about the whole thing.

"Owed me somethin', refused ta pay up. Kicked me like a dog while he dragged that shit out. Only so long a Fellow will put up with that b'fore he's watchin' fer a formal breach of contract." By ways of a mouthful of potato salad.

"He did." Sweeney shrugs. "So I took my opportunity."

Rules are Rules, when it comes to faerie business.

For the first time since she woke up, Genya feels something other than apprehension or indignation. Curiosity. In itself, that doesn't beget trust, but the stranger helps his case by being so forthcoming. And she can tentatively relate to the broad strokes of his story: contorting your way out of dealings with powerful men, even if means breaking some bones in the process. Still sounds defiant to her.

"My name is Genya," she offers, and takes a careful sidestep from out of her cover. Provided that spear stays lower, she might take another.

They seem to be getting on well enough, so Sweeney sees no reason to get aggressive if she doesn't lunge too sudden. His eyes are keen on her, making quick assessment of her very pleasant shape. But they focus on her face for all discussion.

"Called Sweeney." A name for a name.

"So, what is it that ya do, back where yer from? When ya ain't readin'."

What does she do? Things have only just begun to settle down. As the palace repopulates, she simply does whatever needs doing. Assigns rooms, acquires supplies, arranges repairs. She lives where she's always lived, but in a different room. Elevated from attendant to advisor, though her responsibilities remain vacillatory and widespread. Very little of her day is yet comprised of advising.

Before that, a servant and a spy. Both roles to which she gave everything, and that took even more.

"I'm a Tailor," she responds. That feels right, as it always had. His wandering gaze draws nothing but indifference from her. It was expected. "And you--" The rising inflection is interrupted by a low, long rumbling of her stomach. Genya winces at the weakness she didn't choose to betray.

At the word 'tailor', he brightens unexpectedly. What are the fucking odds? But then she turns the question back on him, and his fresh mood fades.

He does a bunch of stupid bullshit for Grimnir. Errands, murder, fuck. Sweeney doesn't miss that shit. He's not eager to get into it either, but there's also no reason to hide the base truth.

"I'm a Leprechaun." There's no expectation that she'll know what that is. At least she probably doesn't have some 'clever' joke about his height or breakfast cereal.

"Which includes a bit'a tailorin' too." How serendipitous, them meeting in some random-ass wood, completely naked. The closer she is, the more likely to notice the wilk rune on the first bone of the middle finger of his right hand.

No joke, no remark whatsoever. She assumes it's a job title, or a designation such as all Ravkan grisha are subject to. While interested to learn what it means, she didn't miss how his face fell before telling her. Another time, perhaps, if there ever is one.

"Among many more useful skills, clearly." He's equipped himself quite ably. She hasn't spotted any of his traps but he could use that spear to hunt, as well as ward off what might hunt him. "I don't suppose... Have you any experience foraging? I've no idea what's safe to eat." She didn't flatter him a little for no reason.

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.

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.

"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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

"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.

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."

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.

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.

"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.

TEST DRIVE MEME 001

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