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rubilykskoye mods ([personal profile] rubimods) wrote in [community profile] rubimemes2024-02-07 11:31 pm
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TEST DRIVE MEME 005

⚰︎ ⍢ ⌲ ⍚ TEST DRIVE MEME:
Welcome to RUBILYKSKOYE — a dark, horror-smut game where player choices will drive a mod-run storyline about the world and its NPCs. This test drive meme provides a medley of prompts evoking the game's general tone.

THESE THREADS CAN BE GAME CANON if both players are accepted into the game and agree to it. However, if players who'd prefer to start fresh are welcome to reuse these prompts in their own personal logs upon acceptance into the communities. Note: the universal test drive arrival prompt will not be repeated on the any event log, but players are welcome to reuse the prompt.

CONTENT WARNINGS for this game include: monsters, body horror, dub-con, non-con, religion, blood/violence, and marking/branding, loss of autonomy/self, and mental influences. This log additionally has warnings for: spiders, aphrodisiac and truth serum effects, public nudity, exhibitionism/voyeurism, bdsm, kink negotiation, social pressure, and animal sacrifice.

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.

FAQSETTINGCALENDARRESERVESAPPLICATIONS

IN THE WOODS SOMEWHERE

The chirping of partridges in the treetops rouses you. Light barely filters through the canopy, just enough to suggest daylight. By the time it reaches the forest floor, the light has taken on a sickly green. You lie amongst the frost-covered mosses and ferns, the frozen soil cold and just a little damp on your bare skin.

Wherever you were before this moment, whatever you were doing or wearing, when you awaken in this forest, you find yourself naked and helpless as the day you were born. As you sit up and get your bearings, aside from a brief wave of disoriented nausea, you seem to be no worse for wear than you last remember.

You seem to be alone. The gnarled oaks and moss suggest no sign of civilization or sentient life. Just flickers of movement from curious squirrels or brave lizards reemerging after a long winter. With your feet under you, and you'll find the wood is filled with berry bushes and nut trees, though much of the fruit has been picked clean. The freshwater stream that runs north-south, populated by both poisonous toads and delicious crawdads, will lead people towards the first signs of civilisation, the cabins of those who choose to live beyond Rubilyskoye's formidable walls.

In the forest, you may run into others with stories just like yours. Some may have already formed clumsy nudist groups, others may still be processing their confusion, with no memory of how they got here. Now is a good time to overcome any hang-ups you have about modesty; it's going to be a long hike.

Turn your back to the darker, shadowy parts of the forest and eventually the glow of manmade lights and the curve of a dirt road may come into view. At the edge of the wood, you'll find a town surrounded by a fifty-foot wall of beige stone. The only entrance is an iron gate positioned on the southern edge. When you arrive, the gate is already open, welcoming people inside.

This quaint, historic town of five-thousand has cobbled street and signs lit by gas lamp. Wooden shutters protect otherwise open-air windows on the buildings, which are all under three stories with gabled roofs. A number of businesses hug the main street — a clockmaker, a cobbler, a grocer — while residential homes sprawl outwards towards the wall. At the far end of the main street, visible about a mile to the north now that the trees and the enormous wall is out of the way, sits a castle with three towers.

When you enter, the streets are full of people, but despite any efforts on your part to hide or make excuses, they don't seem offended by your nakedness. Even families with children don't gawk or look twice. Those determined to find proper clothing regardless will find that modern clothing stores aren't available — the closest this town has is a tailor's shop and a stand in the central marketplace selling scarves and blankets.

breaking and entering
If you intend to have your character break into someone's house or yard to steal some of their clean laundry, please review the info about game laws on the FAQ and give the mods a heads up HERE.



Fortunately, the people of the town are very generous! Anyone who ask the locals will be directed to the boarding house for both clothes and a place to stay. Accessible through an embellished iron garden gate and obscured by hanging plants, trees, and vines, beyond an overgrown yard in the residential sprawl of the town is a bright-red door, which opens to a spacious cottage of several stories. It's already full of people who appeared in the village just as you did today.

finding roommates
Don't spend too much time asking questions in the common areas. 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. Maybe you'll get lucky and run into someone who has decided to move out? (Roommates will not be mod-assigned; players should coordinate directly with one another to determine their living arrangements; at this point, many characters have used activity rewards to move to accomodation outside the boarding house.)


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 a breakfast of thick grain porridge and caramelised bananas from the new peaks; these NPCs can also answer any questions about the situation. You may notice they're dressed in a way you would almost call normal — at least, in a manner befitting 19th century Eastern Europe. Gossip about new arrivals spreads quickly, and Rubeans who run businesses or train trades are eager to help you find a place to apply your skills so you can contribute to your new home.


writer's block?
If you're struggling to pick a way to engage the prompts, try: naked hiking, acquiring clothing, being offered work, asking questions over breakfast, or staking your claim on a bedroom!



HEARTS FESTIVAL

New arrivals to Rubilykskoye will find themselves strongly encouraged to participate in the current zadza purging festival, and will be assigned either a collar in leather or iron based on their Niez or Wilk mark, or a wrist-strap or manacle that suits the attachment of a leash for those with a Diabel or Skala mark.

Characters are encouraged to embrace this temporary designation as a sign that they will be good citizens; those who object or ignore their designation may find the NPCs try to helpfully guide them, express displeasure at "Void-Touched" who won't assimilate, or in rare cases exert social pressure, coercion, violence or shunning to ensure compliance.

Throughout town various NPCs have set up tents and booths to host myriad performances, workshops, demonstrations, and food stands for their celebration. The foods were made using some of the new flora that have brought back from the peaks. Characters can get their hands on the following heart-themed foods from the second day of the festival onwards:

  • HEART-SHAPED COOKIES: eating these intensifies body heat, making characters a great cuddle buddy for the cold weather and likely to strip down, feeling overheated even in a snowdrift

  • BEEF HEART STEW WITH DUXELLES: eating these fills those who consume it with confidence, making them more solicitous and dominant

  • LIME-GLAZED GOAT HEART SATAY: eating these intensifies sensation, making characters more sensitive to both pain and pleasure

  • CINNAMON GLUWEIN: drinking a cup of this hot beverage will make characters especially honest

The nature of the booths set up for performances, workshops, and other goods focuses around the festival's dominance and submission themes. These persist throughout the day regardless of the hour or the audience, so very few people can be found consistently at their places of work during the day this week. In addition:
  • Skala and diabel NPCs may offer to share their partner(s) with the Void-touched, or ask to share theirs.

  • PIOTR, a farmer, brings tools over from the farm including bridles and saddles, which can be found at a booth near some hunters who've made anal plugs that end with real animal tails, as well as muzzles.

  • The cages from the Moot Hall have been moved into the streets, and people are allowed to move freely in and out of them. One of them has been covered in curtains to function as a glory hole booth.

  • Some niez and wilk NPCs line up near the main event stage and kneel to offer themselves as human furniture.

However, characters may also come across some carnival games operated by NPCs who are eager to help the Duchess find her heart! Some involve slaughtering livestock by removing their hearts—rest assured, these livestock were already on the menu, but their ritual sacrifice will now involve the cutting out of their hearts. Cut out an animal's heart yourself, or just attend the show! Many of the townspeople will get into it, painting their faces with animal blood or drinking from it.

writer's block?
If you're struggling to pick a way to engage the prompts, try reacting to being assigned a dominant or submissive role, scenes where your character is starting to feel the effects of the food, watching (or participating in) a performance, or joining in on a gory animal sacrifice. NPCs that are usually welcoming may strongly pressure even new arrivals to participate in their cultural festivities.


the fathomless dark

At the outer edges of the forest, shadows grow long and the air grows thick. Though the sun never grows warm red-gold with sunset, the wood darkens. Birdsong is replaced by the click of mandibles and the skitter of many legs. Anyone who ventures out this way will soon find it difficult to see before them, even in the middle of the day — eventually, even the brightest magical light source or darkvision cannot stretch further than a few inches.

In the void, the air feels heavy, as if it were not air at all but some more solid mass. Almost like liquid-smoke, it presses down upon you. Slowing your movements. Characters who push too far into the void may stop being able to move at all, and find themselves given over to insanity if they collapse, unable to draw themselves out. This is just one of many dangers.

Monsters thrive this far out. Huge, blood-red spiders the size of hunting dogs drop from the treetops. In addition to their venomous bite, which contains a fast-acting paralytic, these creatures are clever: they attempt to use their webbing to entangle any trespassers, binding limbs together or to trees. If you're unfortunate to become fully cocooned, you don't have long before this forest will be the last thing you see.


Those who seem lucky enough not to run afoul of the monsters here are in for a worse fate. The void can play tricks on your senses. As madness sets in and you lose all sense of direction, you may also lose control of your body — what is that steers your hands to turn against your friends? Why does it sound like your own voice whispering?

In the fog, you may also hear the voices of those familiar to you — people you know from the town, or people whom you know with almost perfect certainty aren't here. these figments may recreate unhappy memories or force trespassers to hallucinate their worst nightmares. Nothing is as it seems in the void, and when you swing at these figments, desperate to silence them, it might not be a figment at all, but a friend in the flesh trying to help you. By the time you see their true face, it could be too late to stop yourself.

writer's block?
If you're struggling to pick a way to engage the prompts, try fighting a monster, hallucinating your worst nightmares, and/or attacking a friend or stranger!


HIDING INSIDE EACH OF US

Uh oh spaghetti-os.

The marks worn by all residents of Rubilykskoye aren't just cool body art, as it turns out. The town is full of rumors, whispered in shadows and over candles of a starving creature hiding in the dark corners of your chest. Feed your inner beast, they say, before it finds a way to feed itself.


Alas, its emergence is inevitable — sooner or later, the horrible things that happen here pile up and make someone repulsed by the idea of human contact. Someone holds themselves back, bites their tongue, or simply does not believe the stories. Today, for one reason or another, that creature is coming out. Someone hasn't been keeping it sated.

Symptoms escalate over weeks, from monstrous irritability to full-blown body horror transformation, where people physically shed their human forms and evolve into the monsters this place made them. Once a person becomes something more (or less) than human there's only one way to go back — sate the beast.

someone else transforms
Poor Merta Chesnokov, the usually stalwart older woman who mans the Apothecary, has been beset by unusual requests in addition to her regular demands, not to mention sweating blood. The festival, a rash of skala blood flu, and a little extra town chaos in January, has brought a high demand to her little shop. Now there's also a local fashion springing up for teas and herbal remedies sourced from the recently revealed tropical mountains.

After another failed tisane test drive, and the third customer asking for a new kind of aphrodisiac to add to their festival food, she was seen tossing down her work knife with uncharacteristic frustration, and taking an "early lunch" that she didn't return from that night. Though her children, friends and employees reach out to her, there's no sign of her until you stumble upon her in the woods.

Merta overboils with her suppressed fury as her body distorts and her flesh blackens and crusts. Her attempts to hold off her transformation have failed, and Merta turns into a Smoldering Skink, a large repillian creature whose thick scales hold back her magmatic insides. The noise she makes is an unhearthly hissing scream like a boiling kettle, and she attempts to vent her pent-up stress by wildly attacking everything in sight. Immediately, the surroundings catch aflame! There will be a small fire eating at the dead wood of a long winter if it's not put out, but your first priority might have to be fielding a stampeding lizard with massive teeth and burning hot scales...

(There are other monsters lurking in every townsperson — feel free to invent your own npc monsters and scenarios!)


you waited too long
At first, as you hide yourself from your darker impulses, a subtle itch develops under your skin. An irritability that makes you snap at the person who bumps into you on the stairs because all those fleeting emotions that you've been repressing bubble to the surface. Every dark thought you've had about being here, all the fears of never getting home, of being surrounded by ticking time bombs, the anxiety of wondering who you might hurt or what relationships you might betray by doing what you have to do. The anger. Oh, the anger.

Maybe you shut yourself in your room or run into the woods to hide away, but there's only so much you can do to deny the itch that grows into hunger like a spark catching and growing to wildfire. Someone comes to check on you. That knock on the door or crunch of leaves in the wood that fills you with dread at what you might do and hope that you will be sated.

As claws and fangs and scales and spines and fur grow and your body transforms with a sickening crunch of bones and peeling of skin, so do your appetites. If you won't sate them, you'll lose yourself to your beastly impulses sooner or later, mauling friends and taking your fill. Is it better or worse if only your claws get inside of them?
madaboutit: (Anim look bar bounce)

[personal profile] madaboutit 2024-02-13 01:15 am (UTC)(link)
His brow crinkles at the statement; Sweeney doesn't really do 'friends', so he's running down the short list of who the fuck she might be talking about. Curiosity stretches his expression.

"Hope they made a good impression."

He rather not be dealing with guilt by association. Something strikes him, and in the moment, he prays it isn't Cesare.
dawn_is_breaking: (hrmmm)

[personal profile] dawn_is_breaking 2024-02-13 01:17 am (UTC)(link)
She makes a thoughtful face for a moment, "Well he said you were a seven foot tall ginger with a big dick.....so I guess that's a pretty good impression."
descendente: (015)

[personal profile] descendente 2024-02-13 01:19 am (UTC)(link)
[ Frank stops, looking over his shoulder with a softly arched brow. Turns around to face him again, eyes lowered like he's ready to sigh and doesn't. He's not angry, just disappointed, as they say. But mostly bored. ]

I'm going to think it's a shame.

[ A deliberate echo from before. ]

Why do I get the feeling you don't mean that, though.
ghostlocked: because that's the trendy thing to do (tired • i'm choosing to be offended)

[personal profile] ghostlocked 2024-02-13 01:21 am (UTC)(link)
Everything.

[That's not true, but he's in the mood for dramatics. The problem with telepathy is it gives him even less of a chance to filter himself.]

They're... Who even knows how to do this shit? I don't want to work at a Ren Fest. I already look like a pirate.

[He doesn't. 19th century clothing just isn't exactly his style.]
dawn_is_breaking: (down laugh)

[personal profile] dawn_is_breaking 2024-02-13 01:22 am (UTC)(link)
[There's an unmistakable sense of amusement in Dawn's next reply.]

You look like a pirate? How so?
minuteofangle: (038)

[personal profile] minuteofangle 2024-02-13 01:22 am (UTC)(link)
Perpétua, [ he echoes, giving her a grin. She's all right, far as this crowd goes.

So far, at least. ]


You can call me Fifty.
bruxedo: (008)

[personal profile] bruxedo 2024-02-13 01:26 am (UTC)(link)
Splendid. [ Mm. She drops on the nearest seat available, one leg crossed over the other. The way her robe falls shows more of her thigh, but this is the last place to be worried about that. ] I'm a meiga, by the way. Do you know what that is?
ligature: (hello???)

[personal profile] ligature 2024-02-13 01:26 am (UTC)(link)
Is he? Alive? At this point, Will's last coherent memory before waking up naked in the forest is tumbling towards what could only be certain death in the frigid waters of the Atlantic ocean. Now he's here, being given the third degree by--what, his fucking clone? Is this supposed to be a convincing argument in favour of his still being alive?

Well, with that in mind--

"Do you want what's on my birth certificate or where I was last registered to vote? You need to back off." He could dial back the terrified sarcasm, but he won't, not when he's not convinced any of this is even real. "I taught at Quantico, not that it's any of your business."
murdercycle: (of mermaids.)

[personal profile] murdercycle 2024-02-13 01:27 am (UTC)(link)


Huh.


( Nathan raises his eyebrow as far up as it’ll go. To the casual bystander, it probably looks as if he’s skeptical as fuck about the peaches he’s looking down at. )

What am I doing with my face right now?
bruxedo: (008)

[personal profile] bruxedo 2024-02-13 01:30 am (UTC)(link)
[ Her expression tells him what she doesn't have to: impressive. ]

Cool name name, Fifty. Picked it yourself?
dead_tongue: (purdy)

[personal profile] dead_tongue 2024-02-13 01:31 am (UTC)(link)
[Fuck. Iggy hates disappointing people.

He looks around quickly, then starts walking again, reaching to lightly take Frank's hand and tug him toward the brothel.]


Come on. I work there, we can have a room where nobody will come knocking if you really want total privacy.

[Not his favourite room, as it turns out, but that really doesn't matter much, either. It's got a door and a bed and a basin to wash up at - what more could anyone ask for?

He keeps thinking of the brief images he saw across the mental link, seeing them like faded Polaroids. It's the brutality he's stuck on, even as he shuts the door behind them.

This is probably such a bad idea.]
minuteofangle: (032)

[personal profile] minuteofangle 2024-02-13 01:32 am (UTC)(link)
Maybe, [ he drawls. It's not especially clever as far as callsigns go, but like fuck is he dropping his real name around any of these people. ] Gotta keep it interesting somehow. What're we drinking?

[ Paranoia or not, he fully intends to get wasted. And then maybe bent over a couch somewhere once he finds some nice, accommodating stranger with strong hands and a big fucking dick.

Stress relief is important, and what not. ]
madaboutit: (Anim look sexy NO)

[personal profile] madaboutit 2024-02-13 01:34 am (UTC)(link)
Muted surprise raises both brows. Being male cuts the list by more than half, and his wheels are spinning as he tries to sort through the few leftover potentials. Sweeney blinks.

"Well...I was hopin' he was the one makin' a good showin', but I'll take the compliment." A slight shrug of his head punctuates a quick note.

"If ya find those qualities ta be pleasin'."

One really shouldn't assume, especially here.
dead_tongue: (who in the what now)

[personal profile] dead_tongue 2024-02-13 01:40 am (UTC)(link)
[Wide eyed, he shakes his head.]

No! Is that like, Portuguese for bisexual?
dethangel: (unsure)

[personal profile] dethangel 2024-02-13 01:40 am (UTC)(link)
Oh. Uhhhh. You're doing this.

[He tries to mirror his eyebrow-raising gesture, hoping the brain internet connection thing will pick up on it.]

Right?
descendente: (015)

[personal profile] descendente 2024-02-13 01:41 am (UTC)(link)
Frank's expression probably gives away the concerted effort he's making to keep his hands to himself. The other man is acting up enough that intimidation would likely make it worse, rather than getting him in line. That's not something he's used to.

"You taught at Quantico."

Right. He shakes his head, trying to piece together how they're going to do this — all without Will's input, of course. Typical of him.

"It's better if we pretend to be brothers. I don't feel like dealing with the alternative. We've got enough shit going on."

The tension — frustration, as much as he hates to admit it — is accumulating. There's no choice that doesn't bring down questions on the both of them, and he can't trust Will not to fuck it up.

"I'll take care of you if you cooperate, but you need to listen to me."
dawn_is_breaking: (smirk side)

[personal profile] dawn_is_breaking 2024-02-13 01:41 am (UTC)(link)
"That all depends on how pleasing you can be with such qualities." She counters with a little smirk and then holds out her hand to him.

"I'm Dawn Granger."
multiverse: (pic#17001063)

[personal profile] multiverse 2024-02-13 01:42 am (UTC)(link)
( parisa's surprise is less that the owner of this hole decided to suck, and more the ferocity they use to go at it. they are possibly the best napkin she's ever had, which is probably saying something, though parisa doesn't know what.

in reward, she hooks in her fingers, pressing down on their tongue and pushing deep to the back of their throat, carefully spreading her fingers to take up the most space possible.
)

Is it the fingers or the blood? ( silly question. they both know it's blood. ) Would you like some more?
madaboutit: (Anim smile blue shrug)

[personal profile] madaboutit 2024-02-13 02:02 am (UTC)(link)
He gives a shrugged smirk that sinks a dimple, as if to say 'guilty as charged'. At her offer, there's a flicker of hesitation, barely noticeable and easily missed by most, before he takes her hand.

"Most folk call me Sweeney," he offers in kind. He makes no effort to linger after a polite shake. The gesture feels weird, but he's not going to protest when there's hope he might end up inside her at some point.

"So...whad'ya think so far?" Sweeney makes a quick sweep of the crowd with his eyes before returning his focus to her. "Dumpin' ya end the deep end, showin' up fer a festival."
ligature: (existentially exhausted)

[personal profile] ligature 2024-02-13 02:04 am (UTC)(link)
The temptation to provoke is sudden and intense. He can almost hear Hannibal's voice at his ear: isn't he curious what would happen? And he is--curious, that is--but not enough to discover just what kind of enemy Frank might become, should the fight go sideways.

Which it would, he knows. Adrenaline is the only thing keeping him upright and argumentative, and that can't last forever. In his present condition, it would take very little for anyone to put him down.

"...I'll take care of you if you cooperate, but you need to listen to me."

"Your sales pitch could really use some work," he retorts, but some of the terror-fuelled fire has already gone out of him, leaving him slumped against the stone wall and clutching the shabby cloak around his body to preserve what little dignity he has left. He stares back at Frank mistrustfully, the image of a cornered dog--but he is listening.
molineux: 𝕓𝕦𝕔𝕜𝕪𝕓𝕖𝕒𝕣 (pic#14891196)

[personal profile] molineux 2024-02-13 02:11 am (UTC)(link)
Bold, wasn't she? Which would probably affect anyone else who spent her life with her value tied to her maidenhead, but this veered into territory that Margaery was more than familiar with. This would provide her the opportunity to regain comfort by walking a path she already knew: desire, and what comes inevitably after.

Now if she could just get rid of the growing monster inside of her gnawing away at her control, replacing what should be her clinical seduction skills with a hazy genuine want -

Too late, as her self-control was neatly broken the moment Ianthe pulled her into her lap, invitation written all over her expression, laced like potent temptation in her words. And Margaery could only play along, hands resting on Ianthe's sternum, just above her breasts - one last attempt to keep up appearances.

Her mouth felt dry, her body warming up significantly with their new proximity.

"I think you know." Accusatory. Haughty, still. A queen should never have to ask, or beg -

- a surge of arousal pulsed through her at the thought of getting what she wanted.

Margaery broke. "Touch me."
molineux: 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕓𝕚𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 || 𝔻ℕ𝕋 (pic#14891044)

[personal profile] molineux 2024-02-13 02:19 am (UTC)(link)
"Zadza?"

As much as Margaery is loathe to admit it to herself, it's a testament to her upbringing that not having any intimate knowledge of her environment might be what bothers her the most out of everything in her situation. Without it, how could she ever make the best of her situation? She resolves to find out everything she can about the concept.

The mention of sacrifice, however, has her smiling resignedly. It seems that they share common fears as gentlewomen. But somehow, the thought of dying (again) feels abstract somehow, but perhaps it's just her mind incapable of processing another such trauma.

So long as it's not fire again.

"Do you know how to use your knife? How did you go about procuring it, if you don't mind my asking?"
princess_of_ida: (Default)

[personal profile] princess_of_ida 2024-02-13 02:22 am (UTC)(link)
[Gag reflex? Who has one of those? Not Ianthe. The fingers pushed forward and she pressed in even more so that they end up deep, deep and her throat contracted about them in a way that should definitely have made a normal person choke.

Ianthe was far from normal.

Saliva coated Parisa's fingers, dripping down Ianthe's chin as it slipped free from the corners of her mouth. Eyes closed, she tried to hum an affirmative, but it came out more of a gurgle. Yes, give her more.]
dawn_is_breaking: (sweetest_smile)

[personal profile] dawn_is_breaking 2024-02-13 02:24 am (UTC)(link)
The fact that such a big gruff man like him has dimples immediately makes her own smile grow another notch.

"Nice to meet you." She says as they shake hands, noticing that even though his big hand swallows her own his grip is quite gentle.

"Once Iggy explained things to me a bit I was able to get into it a bit more. What about you? You look like you've been having some fun."
molineux: 𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕦𝕞𝕡𝕖𝕥𝕤 || 𝔻ℕ𝕋 (pic#14890944)

[personal profile] molineux 2024-02-13 02:31 am (UTC)(link)
Unexpected, but not strange. She's come across men like him before; their interests lie beyond typical tastes, but that usually makes it more fun to unravel their desires - the triumph of discovery has always been sweeter than any physical pleasure Margaery's experienced before. Unless, of course, they're like Joffrey.

The reminder is enough to make her jerk her gaze away, and she begins to walk with the expectation that he will follow. That is, until smallfolk catches her attention and she pauses in her steps, turning to look at him once more with a thoughtful frown.

"...I have yet to hear anyone else use the term 'smallfolk' here."

And for a moment, it was almost too easy to think she was back somewhere in the Seven Kingdoms, even (or especially) with such debauchery being displayed at every turn.

She studies his face in hopes of recognizing him - the white-blonde hair is reminiscent of what she knows about the Targaryens, but surely it couldn't be. Even purgatory wouldn't stretch to such ironies. ...right?

"What is your name, ser?"