SUMMER TEST DRIVE MEME

[rubimods]

⚰︎ ⍢ ⌲ ⍚ 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 coming 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: nudity, D/S mechanics, public sex, aphro, bondage, free use, death, missing persons, snakes.

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

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 damp mosses and ferns, the balmy summer air warm and sticking 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 emerging from their hiding places. With your feet under you, 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, is knee-deep and surprisingly chilly. Here and there, dotting the verdant forest, are strange, massive white trees extending into the sky, surrounded by a circle of dead soil. Their sides are smooth and cool to the touch – like bone, for those who know its texture – and they creak alarmingly, threateningly at the press of warm hands.

As you explore, you may encounter caches of clothing left in painted crates or placed in hollow tree trunks. They contain loose shirts and trousers, perhaps even a moth-eaten coat, along with a note that includes a bare-bones explanation for your arrival and a sketched map toward town. You may also 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 to find civilization.

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. Above the town, drifting like a low hanging cloud over the tops of the buildings, is a pavilion swathed in deep red cloth, and to the north, past the end of the main street, are several large blockades barring further exploration. Somewhat strangely, the whole town seems to be in a state of slight disrepair– workers bustle around, filling in a large hole in the town wall, a woman curses and fiddles with the crank mechanism of a well, and children splash through muddy potholes in the cobblestone, chasing a malnourished looking dog. Here, the bone trees have taken root as well, a few rising through buildings, branches extending through cracked roofs, others rooted in the middle of the street.

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.

SETTING: CRIME

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. Parts of the house still bear the dust of disuse, gathered on various furnishings – bedding, sofas, curtains, wooden tables. However, it's already full of people! Once inside, you may notice patchwork repairs have been made, some scorch marks still linger from a fire about a year back, and the place seems somewhat in disrepair

Tonight, a few of the townspeople will help out with the new arrivals. They stock the kitchen and prepare a communal dinner of parsnips, pheasant, and squash. During dinner, they (and those outsiders who've already begun to settle) sit down at the enormous wooden dining room table and help orient the newcomers and answer their questions. The town has recently been through some upheaval, and its people have suffered a great loss, newcomers are told. Everyone is doing their part now to restore it to its former glory.

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.

WRITER'S BLOCK?

If you're struggling to pick a way to engage the prompts, try: naked hiking, acquiring clothing or other inventory items, asking questions at dinner/orientation, or staking your claim on a bedroom!

THE FESTIVAL OF SUMMER'S EVE

Despite the repair efforts around town, summer is in full swing, which means it's time to take advantage of the warm weather! Colorful tents have been set up, stages and spaces for "games" to be played, many involving intimacy, playfulness, sex, or "fun". In fact, there's a great deal of emphasis on fun being had all around. Each round begins with a prayer to the Duchess. Not bowing your head in prayer may get you a stares from locals, or worse, opponents may be extra motivated to defeat someone so disrespectful to her Grace.

Each Thursday, buildings are festooned with wreaths of wildflowers, tables are laden with food and drink, and everyone is given colored sashes to wear over their clothes. Festival goers are not allowed to enter the main events unless they wear a sash, and to get a sash they must reveal their curse marks. Those marked with the curse of Wilk receive blue sashes, Diabel get red, Skala receive green and Niez are adorned with grey.

FAQ: CURSE MARKS

This summer's eve, the locals are eager to explain, is a festival about giving trust to one another, taking pleasure in the present and acceptance in things as they are. What perhaps isn't explained nearly so well is that everyone is expected to demonstrate enthusiasm for the festival activities, lest they catch the eye of the Duchess' watchful stewards. There's a strange energy in the air, furtive, sorrowful looks and forced smiles, but a sense of relief lingers in the festival crowds as they set to celebrating their hearts out.

Tables overflow with refreshments, especially iced drinks and chilled fruit to cool the summer heat. Rubeans traditionally spice their foods with aphrodisiacs, something that is so culturally normal to them that they don't feel the need to mention it.

• An outdoor feast starts the festivities, with commanders, who are expected to give orders, and followers, who must follow the whims of commanders, whatever they decree. Who commands and who follows is decided by the curse-marked sash participants wear. But there's a twist – every three hours, a horn blows, and the roles switch at random; commanders become followers and vice versa. Many festival-goers, now in a position of command, are eager to get petty revenge on the followers now at their mercy. And if you should be seen disobeying or disregarding a command, or refusing to issue commands when your turn has come around, well, that doesn't seem like proper active participation at all!


• Rope Tying Contest! Riggers from all around town are eager to show off their rope-tying skills, with contests taking place judging both in their ability to weave an intricate web of knotwork over another's body, and to suspend them artfully for all to admire. And of course, those who are tied up will have to stay in place until the judging is complete! There's a public voting element to the contest as well, as festivalgoers "enjoy" these community pieces of art. Everyone who participates is given ample water, praise, and force-fed an herbal draught to calm their nerves if they seem to be getting a bit too agitated.


• Prison Bars & Glory Holes! Human-sized cages have been dragged out into the festival grounds and draped with heavy cloth. People may enter and leave them freely, taking advantage of the gaps in the bars to indulge in sexual acts with the veneer of anonymity. Sometimes, more than one person might find themselves in the same cage, or pranksters might close and lock the door behind them – oops!


• Spooky Story Telling! As evening falls, gather 'round in a crowded tent as a pair of story-tellers share and reenact tales of monsters and horrors past before opening the floor to the audience to share their own. Ten candles have been lit for the occasion, and one is snuffed out for every new story told. The air in the tent gets stuffy, made stuffier with the musky incense burning in the fire stoking the animalistic instincts of the participants until they give into fear and their more primal urges.


• A game going on throughout the town, regardless of whether someone consents to participation, is something the locals call Lock and Key. The rules are explained after you are grabbed and tied by your wrist (or ankle, whatever was available) to someone else: the locked binding tying you two together is blessed to be unbreakable until you each draw enough blood to soak through the binding... or find the key, stashed someplace on the festival grounds. Good luck!


• However, those who refuse to get in the community spirit of shared trust and pleasure may find themselves singled out by the Duchess' stewards for some personal, mandatory education on Rubean culture and traditions. They may be forcibly dosed with potent aphrodisiacs, locked into the cages or tied against the bars until they plead for Her Grace's mercy... or have satisfied enough of the sexual or sadistic desires of any passer-bys.

Throughout all of this, the general attitude from the local townsfolk may occasionally come across as strangely admiring or overtly hostile. While many of the common people of Rubilykskoye hold mixed personal opinions toward the newcomers to their town, two extremist groups have emerged with opposing viewpoints: some think you are benevolent, beneficent beings with nascent powers sent to lead and guide them and solve their woes. These people, called Blackguards, will do their best to make sure your participation in the festival is one of joy and pleasure. But others, called the Zlatniki, believe that the outsiders coming into their land have corrupted their fellows and seduced their Goddess, and will do their best to twist their native traditions toward cruelty and vindictive sadism when it comes to the Void-touched.

WRITER'S BLOCK?

If you're struggling to pick a way to engage the prompts, try partaking in refreshments, give or follow commands, participate in events, be drafted into games against their will, or suffer the consequences of disobedience!

FOREST DEPTHS

Rumor moves through town quickly: two nights ago, a group of loggers went out into the wood and no one has seen them since. Anyone who wants to prove their worth to the community is encouraged to join the search parties going out to look for them and bring them back home.

As you and your fellow searchers venture deeper into the forest, shadows grow long and the air grows thick. The white trunks of the bone trees stand out starkly in the darkness, though you will be warned away from coming too close. 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.

Many peel off, going back to the town proper. The searchers become fewer and fewer. Maybe some of them are going back home, but maybe they're getting lost. Eventually, you walk around a large tree, and you're alone. It's just you and 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.

FAQ: DEATH RULES

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?

Yet the further you go, the more convinced you become that the missing loggers are near by. You're sure you can hear them on the wind, their voices calling out between the trees. Did you just see something out of the corner of your eye? You have to find them. You have to make all this darkness worth it.

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! Feel free to find the bodies of the missing logging party – or hallucinate that you did.

RELEASE YOUR INNER BEAST

Something's wrong here.

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.

FAQ: MONSTER CURSES & TIMELINES

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

Early one morning, alarm bells are rung. The people of Rubilykskoye are quick to explain while boarding up their windows and locking their doors: Cvetanya has transformed after a lover's quarrel turned into heartbreak. Her inner beast – duchozweirz, the natives call it – take the form of a giant snake propelled by hundreds of human-like arms that extend to seize its prey so it might swallow it whole.

Those who are lucky enough to escape Cvetanya's grasp will find that the red scratches left by her monster's hands darken to black and fill them with an icy chill. Warm compresses, hot baths, or some skin-to-skin contact might be necessary for those suffering from her attack.

(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?

RULES: CONTENT WARNINGS

Comments

QUESTIONS

[rubimods]

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[rubimods]

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Kell Maresh | Shades of Magic | Niez

[priste]

in the woods somewhere (cw for potential discussion of self-harm/blood magic)

[ Needless to say, Kell did not expect to find himself here. He can't remember the last time he's been disoriented in this way. Not just like he doesn't know where he is, but like he doesn't know what world he's in. It's a distinctly strange feeling, as if the ground were slightly tilted, as if his entire experience were knocked slightly askew. He finds clothing easily enough, but that's not what he's really after. But what he wants he can't find.

So when he comes across a person finally, he asks: ]

Do you have a knife? Anything sharp, really.

[ There's a slight edge to his voice, a demand. The cadence of a man who has never been told no. But that's probably not as notable as his mismatched eyes, blue on the left and glossy black on the right. ]

festival of summer's eve

[ Kell is given a gray sash, an item that is altogether nicer than the clothes he'd ended up with since his arrival. With the town still being rebuilt, it's understandable that finer clothes are few and far between. But despite his general mannerisms, he feels just as well in simpler things. Finery would only make him stand out in a way that he has come to resent.

And given that he's trying not to stand out, Kell decides he ought to participate—at east as much as he participates in anything in any case. A discerning eye might notice he's got courtly manners at the feast, though he doesn't try and order anyone around, even when he's meant to play the role of a commander. A suggestion here or there, perhaps, in the spirit of things, but nothing more.

He also participates in the rope-tying contest, but only with a consenting partner. His handiwork is good and if he uses a bit of magic to make slightly more impressive knots, then that's just in good fun. Though, maybe he's showing off a little.

Later, he finds himself pulled into a game of lock and key. At the first suggestion of drawing blood, his expression hardens and he turns to his partner: ] Don't try it. We'll find the key together.

void au: regency period drama

[ Kell joins the search party, of course. He's eager to help and it seems to the easiest way to find a place in the community. He isn't gambling on getting swallowed by the void in the process.

Those who end up stuck with him will find themselves at a ball in regency England. Gray London, as he would call it, mundane and without magic. Here, he's a marquess: highly eligible in status and fortune. His mother has been trying to push him off on a nice girl or boy (non-discriminating, a hold over from his own London), and he's trying not to be pushed off on anyone.

Maybe he's finally noticed someone who seems sympathetic, though. ]

Do you hate these things as much as I do?

[ For all that his words are a complaint, the tone is one of invitation. Perhaps they can be reach other's refuge in the bustling scene of the Ton. ]

wildcard

[ hit me with whatever you're feeling or message me at baldurian if you wanna plot! ]

in the woods feel free to bring on all the cw material

[twice_cursed]

[ Balthiel is of course in the woods because more woods = fewer people which is all around better for, well, everyone. ]

Yeah. What do you want one for? [He's more curious than anything else. ]

regency - void au

[voxt]

[ Holland hadn't wanted to help in the search at all, but he'll be damned if he finds out about the Void through anything but personal experience. The dark magic feels absolutely terrible to his senses, which is perhaps how he ends up lost in there with Kell.

In Gray London, or whatever passes for their combined imagining, Holland is a foreign prince. Maybe Vor is even king. Maybe Holland is even happy.

He wouldn't be happy at a party, necessarily, but his life isn't the hell it was in Makt. His brother is the one who has to worry about inheriting the throne, and Holland goes to parties like this in his white regalia, sporting medals for battles he hasn't fought. He isn't at home in parties like this, opting instead to hang back with arms crossed, glaring at all who approach with anything close to excitement to be here. ]

More than.

[ It's a nice thought that Holland's abrasiveness might be a simple quirk of his personality rather than the result of a life built by loss and lack. It's hard for a prince to go unnoticed in a party like this, but between his dark gaze and frosty demeanor, Holland manages it just fine.

He doesn't mind the offering of sympathy, though. Not from Kell. ]

It certainly drags, after the twelfth one or so.

rope-tying contest.

[hedoniste]

( it’s maybe the fastidiousness of seeking a willing partner that makes gwenaëlle agree, lingering close enough and with enough interest near the competition that it’s natural to speak with her; she’s clearly not there to tie anyone up. on the list of things she’s irresponsibly consented to in her life, she’s definitely made stupider calls—

nervous, palpably, of the ‘you’re going to stay here to to be enjoyed’ part of this equation, but too interested to pass up the opportunity (nevermind the risk), particularly when kell proves something of a showboat, )

How did you do that?

( — of his enchanted knotwork. she can’t turn to point out what she means, but she presumes he’s got context clues. )

lock and key

[corpsecleaner]

[Shaz hitches a shrug, a gesture that silently seems to communicate that searching for the key is fine, but either way is all the same to her. Her posture would suggest that bleeding doesn't especially bother her.

Unconcerned, she casts a look around them. Her gaze flits deliberately from feast tables to cages, to tents.]

Do you have a thought where to start?

lock and key

[thrillcount]

( She hadn't been thinking about it, actually — while teamwork is far from her forte, she'd always opt for non-violence, if it were a viable option. Thankfully, her and the stranger she finds herself bound to seem to share this view; it's both a relief and maybe a small insight into the kind of person this man is. )

Do I look like the kind of girl who'd go feral first and ask questions later? ( She raises an eyebrow. Don't answer, it's rhetorical. ) Forget it, I'm in — let's start this search party.

( The question is, where to start? It could be anywhere. ) Maybe it could be a "hidden in plain sight" kind of thing? Somewhere where there's a big crowd... It's gotta be more complicated than just digging around in the dirt where it's quiet, right? ( She shrugs — it's a shot in the dark. ) What about you, any thoughts?

Alasdair Mac an Rìgh | original | Wilk

[evokethestarsabove]

in the woods somewhere

At some point, the tall, slim man found a cache, but either the shirt didn't fit or it was absent. The trousers don't exactly fit either, in fairness: both too short for his long legs and a bit loose around the hips. He's kept a hand near the waist as he walks so as not to lose them entirely. While not visibly delighted to be wandering in strange woods with bone trees, he is clearly not panicked either.

(At least the place is not fully without magic; he was able to summon a shield, and while that is no immediate help, it did make him feel marginally better.)

If he hears sound that suggests other humans, he heads that way. Otherwise, he has picked a direction that, from the sun, seems to be more or less West. If he walks in a straight line long enough, he expects he'll find civilization or a natural feature that stops his progress. He'll figure out what next when he has more information. After all, the bone trees aren't going to tell him anything useful.

the festival of summer's eve

early
Absolutely no one who has met Alasdair Mac an Rìgh would describe him as "fun." (Well, maybe his eldest brother.) His demeanor is quiet, serious and observant. That said, he's not standoffish, nor does he refuse to participate; his blue sash attests to that much. He engages those who engage him in conversation readily and without looking to get away any faster than the natural flow of the party dictates. He even submits to the commander-follower system if he becomes a target for it, disinclined to break such clear rules without a reason.

Still, whether "polite curiosity" counts as enthusiasm by the stewards' standards is open to question.

later
Or it would be, if Alasdair hadn't been misled by seeing so many eating and drinking without ill-effects. Assuming the food is safe and expecting that not partaking would be rude, he doses himself with more of an aphrodisiac dose than he might have voluntarily ingested well before intervention becomes necessary.

He's new, and at first the effect is mainly a willingness to touch the person he's talking to or the person near him. Shoulder, arm, hand ... chest, hip. It depends where you are, relative to him, and what you're talking about. Regardless, while his quiet air has remained, the reserve has evaporated with some outside encouragement. Whether that shift goes well or poorly in a given interaction is, at present, very much up to chance.

wildcard

[Wildcard me with new arrival things at will! Otherwise, reach out to me at prettiestwhistles or DM the journal if you'd like to plot something OOCly.]

early;

[gramaire]

Ada's been handed a red sash, but only after the initial embarrassment that had accompanied both the realization that she has one of these so-called "curse marks" and the humiliation of being made to reveal it before being allowed entry. Some of the strange traditions here are not so unfamiliar, and others she tries to mimic by wordlessly observing others around her so as not to stand out too distinctly. The worst thing she could do now, she thinks, is earn the wrong sort of attention, especially since she's only just arrived.

Spotting the food is a reminder of how long it's been since she's eaten, so she helps herself to some of the chilled fruit and a cold drink during the opening feast, mostly as a respite from the heat, not necessarily perceiving their effects on her right away.

If she has a somewhat pinker complexion as the festival stretches on, she isn't immediately conscious of it, but she has apparently been designated as something called a commander. Instead of issuing orders, she mostly keeps to herself, eating quietly rather than attempting to make anyone cater to her whims, but then the horn blows. Startled, Ada glances around, gaze landing on a man who appears slightly older than she, sitting a short distance away.

"What is that?" Her voice is soft, with an English accent — clearly of a time. "What's happening?"

Holland Vosijk | Shades of Magic | Skala

[voxt]

1. in the woods (cw self-harm, blood magic to follow)

[ A familiar note of bitterness fills Holland's lungs as he wakes, entirely alone. Immediately he can tell something is wrong, everything in his blood roils at being here, a wrongness that's almost similar to one other time before.

Typical. He stands up. He walks. He find a cloak and throws it over his shoulders, proceeding on foot through the trees. He moves quietly, like a ghost. Clothes hardly matter to a man as scarred as him. Every plane of skin on his body shows clear signs of torture, old burns and cuts that are too clean to be anything less than purposeful. Only his face and hands are entirely smooth. His left eye is entirely black, while his right is pale green.

Approaching him may not end well for you, but Holland's magic hasn't been realiable in some time. Maybe you'll be lucky, you'll be spotted before he thinks you're a threat. ]

You. Where is this? Where are we?

[ Later on, he stops at one of the strange trees and approaches it, placing a hand on the surface, the threatening wrongness only growing the closer he gets to touching it. Maybe someone should stop him or maybe he'll succeed and find out. ]

2. summer's eve festival

[ Holland looks uncomfortable no matter what he dresses in, but green is especially not his color. His pale complexion honestly looks a bit worse, though whether or not he cares is hard to tell. He remains impassive despite the festivities, a fact that draws the ire of several of the Duchess' stewards.

A fight would only draw further attention towards him, so he ends up joining in despite his clear lack of cheer. Almost hoping to avoid notice, he eats in small, controlled bites. Approaching him with any hope of playing commanders or followers is met with a cold, icy reply: ]

No, I won't be doing that.

[ He gets plenty of stares for his obvious denial, but he remains firm. He is definitely going to end up in trouble by the end of the night.

And indeed, he ends up in one of the prison bars later that night. Anyone who tries to slip between the bars will feel the tight grip of his hand the moment they do, however. ]

Walk away, unless you want to lose it.

[ Really not keeping with the vibes, this guy. Perhaps a bit of violence means he'll make it out of here yet. Though go ahead and try to "help," because if he keeps this up he'll catch the eye of the enforcers, and he really won't enjoy that. ]

3. wildcard

[ Holland is really not a "have fun" kind of guy and is generally abrasive, cold, harsh, and often paranoid. His past includes mentions of torture, sexual assault, slavery, and his blood magic involves self-harm. (His magic is currently broken thanks to Story Reasons, so it does not work consistently.) He is not easy to befriend and will probably have mostly negative CR, especially at first. If you want to plot or try any other prompt, feel free to reach out at cantito! ]

in the woods cw: dead animal processing

[twice_cursed]

[Balthiel spends a lot of time in the woods because the village is way too people-y and until people around here learn basic psychic shielding, local space wizard empath has to do what he's gotta do to keep everyone copacetic. Including himself.

He's easy to spot because he is large, shirtless, and currently taking a break from hunting to skin his kill, because someone told him they could sell the pelts...if he didn't fuck them up too much.]

My guess is we're in a warp sliver devoted to Slaanesh. [Cleared that right up for you, right?] Better figure out now how much you're willing to do to survive.

Maadiv Shazaraad | OC | Wilk

[corpsecleaner]

IN THE WOODS SOMEWHERE

Shaz wakes to a warm, late summer forest humming with insects and birds—very much not where she went to sleep, with snow falling on her furs and the dry grass of the Donje valley. There's a stroke of luck in there somewhere, considering she also wakes naked.

That is what Nazhda would call looking on the bright side.

Her luck extends to finding a cache with clothing and a crude map. The writing on it is foreign to her, but then so is all writing. She doesn't need it to work out the lay of a road and a loose direction to travel. By the time she meets anyone, she's dressed and has pulled the long mass of her strawberry brown hair into a loose knot at the back of her neck. She keeps her distance out of respect, well aware that at best she still looks like she's been waylaid on the road, and strangers are ever grounds for suspicion—even with the evidence that her circumstances are common enough to justify leaving clothing out in the wilderness.

"Hail and well met," she says in lightly accented Ilphesean. "Where do you travel?"

Her hands stay open at her sides, clear indication she doesn't mean a fight.


THE FESTIVAL OF SUMMER'S EVE (cw: non graphic violence against animals/animal death, human maiming)

For all that has been alien to her so far, Shaz finds some comfort in the festival. She doesn't know the customs, but to some degree she doesn't have to. She accepts the blue sash when it's offered to her, matching the mark on the inside of her left wrist, and helps herself to food and ale with all the appetite of someone who hasn't always known where her next meal will come from.

After food, though, it's the storytelling that draws her attention. She listens raptly to the first tales, and when the floor is opened for others, she hazards to join in.

Her story is one she from her father as a child. One village over, the story begins (which is how most stories begin in the Dzayan Highlands), there was a pair of siblings, a brother and sister whose mother died quietly in the night, and before dawn rose as one of the restless, unclean dead. The siblings decide between them to keep it a secret, for their mother seems to be mostly herself. She doesn't attack them, and she speaks to them as she always did, even if her eyes have filmed over and her lips have turned blue with death.

For days they hide her from their neighbors and the rest of the village, and she tells them stories at night, until eventually she starts to tell them of her hunger. They try to feed her, but fresh bread and soup hold no pleasure and make her ill. She tells them she needs meat.

And so for a time they try to feed her on rats, and they pretend between the two of them that it is worth their secret and the small acts of violence, because who will miss rats? But rats do not satisfy her for long, and before long she turns her hunger on their farm's livestock, killing chickens and goats, blaming it on wolves.

Finally the siblings know they have waited too long. They agree that the sister will go to town and confess what they've done, to bring their neighbors to put their mother can be put down, so she can be honored properly and put to rest. The brother, meanwhile, will stay and make sure their mother can do no more harm.

When the sister returns, it's to find her mother has turned on her brother. She's attacked him, biting his hand.

Why did you do it? the sister asks, and her mother only answers that she is so hungry. That she is sorry.

They are able to put their mother to rest in the end, but the brother loses his hand.

"And if they have not died since," Shaz finishes as her father always did, "then they still live one village over today."

The Rubeans shift and murmur, uncertain, leaving the newcomer bemused. It's a common sort of story, where she's from, but it seems not to have landed well in this crowd.


RELEASE YOUR INNER BEAST

It's supposed to take weeks without sating for monsters to manifest, isn't it? That is what Shaz has been told.

No one mentioned strong emotions.

If they had, she wouldn't have been surprised when a her own started to appear. Three Rubeans try to corner her, to force her into one of the cages—she's new, they say, and it will teach Shaz her place.

They aren't expecting her strength when she shrugs them off easily, even the man several inches taller than her and broad as a beer keg.

Shaz isn't expecting the way her flash of rage, combined with the heat from the spiked food, burns through her, turning her fingernails to wicked black talons. He eyes, when they rise to pin her attackers, are red rimmed gold.

"I would run."

((sarosaron bringing an OC. Shaz gets a blanket cw for casual references to ritual cannibalism, and pings for death and divine magic because she's basically a baby death goddess, but at this point has yet to come into most of her power. She's from a sword & sorcery style world dominated by competing warlords, so be prepared for her to speak a lot of second world fantasy nonsense.))

in the woods;

[guapa]

Lilí picked Shaz because she clearly saw that Shaz has a map. Lilí does not have a map, and so that makes Shaz extremely valuable in this moment. The forest and its caches of clothing are a great equalizer, though, making them all seem like they're the same, like they could be coming from the same place.

At least until Shaz starts talking. Lilí blinks, her lips parting for a moment as she tries to figure out what she's supposed to say to that. Hail and well met? What is this, one of Lucas's video games?

"Well met," she responds, trying to make it not sound like a question even though it feels so strange to say. "I was trying to find my way back to town. I'm lost." She looks at her with her best doe-eyed expression. Look! She's lost! And helpless! If only someone had a map right now!

Lilí Gómez Espinoza | Bandidos | Wilk

[guapa]

into the forest

[ Lilí is not limiting herself to one cache, oh no. She's been picking her way through several, taking what she likes and then leaving the rest behind, a trail of unwanted clothing following her like Hansel and Gretel's breadcrumbs. Pieces of clothes, too. Sleeves off of an oversized shirt, pieces of a garment she'd made a makeshift belt out of. She's doing well for herself, considering she's having to rip things apart. The fact it's all cotton makes it somewhat easier.

Whatever she might feel about the forest, about waking up naked, about not being where she's supposed to be, she doesn't share it. Lilí exudes confidence even in her patchwork clothes. At least she's found some. At least she doesn't have to walk into town completely naked.

When she catches sight of someone, she drops whatever remaining pieces of clothes she'd had in her hands takes a couple jogging steps to catch up with them, falling in step beside them. ]

Hey! Do you know where we're going? All this [ she gestures around them to the trees and if her hand just happens to land on the person she's with, if she just happens to look a little more scared for it, well, that's a nice act she'll be happy to play up, ] is so strange. It's like a scary movie.

festival of summer's eve

[ By the time the festival has rolled around, Lilí has at least talked her way into much better clothing. She's not eating or drinking almost anything at feast, though she's doing a truly impressive job of pretending that she is. She's social, talking with everyone, letting herself be touched and touching others in kind. She's a consummate participant in their games, enjoying the "fun" of being told what to do in commanders and followers, and laughing along with the Rubeans at the shenanigans caused by it and by the changing of the guard.

Later, she volunteers to be tied up and gets paired up with a rigger, who she takes a moment to size up. ] You better be good at this. I want to win. [ she pulls her long hair up into a ponytail to get it out of the way and offers her hands to her new partner. ] Well, let's get started.

[ After dark, she'll join scary story time and tell the story of La Llorona, which is rather unfortunately timely for the Rubeans given everything in the past month, though she doesn't know it. She just thinks this is a pretty good crowd for it, something new for them.

As the festivities draw to a close, Lilí ends up taking a bottle of wine she'd seen poured for people. She sits alone and drinks straight from it, surveying the emptying-out party grounds. Does she want to go back to the Boarding House, or is there still some time to make some friends? She hasn't ruled out the possibility yet. ]

wildcard

[ hi it's baldurian again hit me up with whatever you got while i try to decide who might be a better fit ]

rope-tying contest.

[antiquities]

( as lilí ties her hair back, charlotte surveys her, selecting a shade of rope that might best flatter her complexion, the particular shade of blonde— )

If you want to win, ( a little dry, the scots in her voice giving her away for no more a local than her new partner in ties, ) then you had best prove flexible, ma belle.

( she tests the strength of the rope in her hands, eyeing the rigs for suspension. not exactly what she’s worked with before,

but that doesn’t mean she can’t make it work. )

louis de pointe du lac / interview with the vampire / niez

[divorcing]

BOARDING HOUSE

In the upper level of the boarding house in a darkened hallway, a vampire is standing in an open door and observing its contents.

It is, to put it plainly, not up to standard.

Louis, in ill-fitting trousers and an oversized tunic, is weighing up the possibility of alternate arrangements. If alternate arrangements even exist. How he might access them, and how quickly.

He has lived a long life, and slept in worse places. But there is something about the humble quality of the room, dust-coated and cobwebbed, that feels unbearable when set against a long staggering nude march out of the trees. Of being somewhere unknown. Of being uncertain of the way back.

Small blessings: an arrival after nightfall. If he could only receive one, there is no better boon.

But still, the room—

Turning from it to the sound of approaching footsteps, Louis inquires:

"Is this the only boarding house, or is there another up the road?"

Hope springs eternal.

THE FESTIVAL OF SUMMER'S EVE

rope-tying contest

Draped in gray, Louis is a very late arrival. Evening fallen, festival in full swing, the remnants of lavish feast still laid out on a table, would-be judges circulating and murmuring among the intricately tied bodies, and it all feels surreal to the point of unreality.

But it is reality.

So here is Louis, applying a connoisseur's eye to the ropes, the places the knots are set, the arrangement of limbs, the cinch of rope cutting into flesh. Living artwork. Considering it as such puts a little distance between himself and the moment, himself and what is considered so normal it is beyond commentary.

He reaches out, puts two fingers on a slightly misaligned knot. A little pressure, and it is shifted back, set to the side of the knee. Louis' expression is very focused, intent. It's been some time, for most of them. The judging must be drawing to a close.

(If he is thinking of anything, anyone, any time in particular, that is no one's business but his own.)

Curious as to what an expert has to say about this pose or that tie? Louis' probably game to answer a question, offer some professional opinions.

spooky story-telling

Eventually, the storytellers tent draws Louis' attention.

More familiar fare than what lies outside the tent, and it's no hardship to listen to a talented mortal delivering an excited rendition of a story Louis has never heard before. Interesting, to hear something so completely new. Maybe he could guess at this twist or turn, but he has so few touchstones for this village, these people. The story could go anywhere.

There is an empty seat alongside him. Louis makes no effort to shoo people away from it, but it's also likely he will hush those who aren't minding their manners and distracting from the story. He's listening to this, please.

WILDCARD

Do whatever, the world is your oyster. Just a note: male partners only for anything sexual.

this marriage is on the ropes.

[damnedest]

What are they to each other? What have they become? Something different. Undefined.

Not unfamiliar to each other. Distance established, and then teased at, and then asserted. It is a strange place and time to find themselves, and now what they are is judge and, well. Lestat is not a competitor, per se, only invested.

He is hanging in suspension and it feels like it has been forever. He is laying in the air, horizontal and belly up and back arched, and his head allowed to hang back on the hinge of his neck so that his hair can flow all pretty, as his rigger intended. One wrist is caught higher than the other, and the effect is such that it looks almost as if he is dangling from the main line under his own power. One leg is well-trussed to bend closed, the other left straight with a simple steadying loop around the ankle.

The process had been some fun. Educational. But now—

'I'm bored,' is in Louis' head, as they haven't spoken in so long, a gift granted by this place. He knows he is here, knows he is inspecting, if not actually judging. 'Tell them to hurry it along.'

Ulterior motive: come see.

buffy summers | buffy the vampire slayer | diabel

[slayages]

in the woods somewhere.
cw: allusions to suicidal ideation

[she jumps, and it's supposed to be over. everyone's supposed to be fine; she's supposed to have stopped an apocalypse that would've swallowed the world whole. there's supposed to be peace in that, a kind she hasn't felt in over five years, since being called as the slayer.

but she opens her eyes again, and the supposeds are nowhere to be found.

there's just disorientation, just barely containing the nausea long enough not to lose something she probably can't afford to; looking to the trees, there's a flash of anger in her, threatening to spark, which would be just about as helpful if she allowed it. no, it, whatever she's thought of as it, isn't over, and she has to figure out what's going on, sooner rather than later.

so buffy does what she's always done: she gets up. she dusts herself off, nose wrinkling as she finds that her fingers only touch bare skin — and, right on cue, a shiver runs over her. great, she thinks, she can't even be left with clothes? thanks for that.

the cache she eventually comes across, in a hollowed-out log, isn't ideal, but she can't exactly afford to be choosy, so she holds her breath as she puts on a dusty old shirt and pants, along with a pair of boots that don't quite fit. she coughs until her chest hurts when she can't hold her breath anymore, and she feels disgusting, but it is what it is.

the map that had been folded inside the shirt, the one she has to squint at to barely make anything out of, leads her to a town, and, finally, other people.

to the first one she sees, dressed in the same style as what she'd had no choice but to throw on:]

Good to know I'm not the only one who got dropped in the middle of a Renaissance fair.

[even as the words leave her mouth, she can hear some amalgamation of willow and giles in her mind telling her well, actually —, but she's ignoring it.]


the festival of summer's eve.

[there's a part of her that could sleep for a week, or more, and there's a part of her that probably never will again. it's the second one that wins out one thursday morning, when the hustle and bustle from the town filters through the window of the room she's found. no, the more accurate term, actually, is commotion.

grumbling, she pushes herself out of bed, and wanders down into it.

immediately, she's whisked off by a townsperson she doesn't really get to study, who shoves a red sash into her hands. it takes a minute of brow-furrowed confusion to realize that she's supposed to wear it over her clothes, and once she follows suit, she gets beamed at, before, promptly, being dragged into a crowd of more people.

it's really not where she wants to be, but she can find an out, right?

no time like the present to start trying.]

Hi, I'm Buffy. Nice to meet you. [she smiles, and tries not to make it too strained. not a bad start.] See? We can totally skip past all the kindergarten get-to-knowy —

[yeah, no such luck. even a slayer is no match for this level of collective enthusiasm.

relentless collective enthusiasm, which doesn't stop until she finds herself tied, locked, to a stranger.

great.

deadpan, on a sidelong glance:]

Let me take a wild guess. You don't have the key.


forest depths.
cw: mental influences, dead body

[once the rumor reaches her, buffy doesn't hesitate to head out into the woods. she doesn't know the terrain, doesn't know what could be lurking, but that doesn't matter; if she can help, she wants to, and a rescue effort isn't something she'd sit out.

with nothing to do, she's also been getting twitchy. something, anything, to feel useful would go a long way.

at some point, though, it starts to grow dark. she starts to realize that she doesn't hear the footsteps of those she'd set out with. and maybe she can't quite put her finger on it, but something here doesn't feel right.

(she'd have enough experience with things like this, by now, to know.)

but all of that leaves her mind in a rush when her shoe brushes up against the edge of something. against someone.

heart in her throat, she bends to examine. and it's all too familiar: the shape of the face, the glassy blue eyes wide open, the head of long brown hair.

she shakes, uncontrollably.]

Dawn? [her voice is small, and only gets smaller.] Dawnie?

[there's no response; the body is just as still.

kneeling, buffy's movements turn from jerky to desperate. once on her knees, she grips the body's arms, trying to ignore how ice-cold the skin is as she shakes, furiously, then does it again.]

You have to wake up. Please wake up. Please —

[still nothing.]

Please.

[nothing. her voice breaks.

the rest of her breaks, too. here, alone, there's no holding back the sobs.]


wildcard.

[have something else in mind? feel free to hit me! you can find me over pm or at lensflares for plotting/chatting. i'm here for any of the festival games, or, really, anything we can think of! for the canon familiar, buffy's canon point is 5x22, "the gift".]

[danced]

[ kisa would never describe herself as a hero. but she's intimately familiar with labyrinths and she knows she's equipped to travel in the dark and take monsters on in ways that a lot of the people here aren't. and she's finding herself dangerously anxious without something to do.

so she's out, once it gets dark. she's trying to use whatever advantages she has to find the loggers, but she keeps being pulled in different directions. something gnaws at her, an unease that feels familiar, like this place is trying to trick her. like it had, for her and the geckos. for countless others. there's something wrong here.

she keeps looking in spite of it, if not for the loggers then for a way out. it's fruitless for a long while, up until she hears the cries of somebody else, and then she runs.

what she finds is a woman crouched over something, sobbing. the kind of wails that aren't for a stranger she'd been hoping to save, but for someone she'd loved that she'd been too late to. kisa doesn't know the woman or who she's mourning but she runs to her side anyway, placing her arms on her shoulders and gently pulling her from what she's shaking.

(something's wrong, still; she can't smell the decay. once kisa realizes she's firmer in pulling her back and away.) ]

Nancy Wheeler | Stranger Things | Wilk

[callmehbic]

Summer's Eve

Waking up naked and alone in a stretch of woods she didn't recognize had been... less than ideal. But Nancy had done what she always does in these less than ideal situations- she'd picked herself up, brushed herself off, and marched herself out of those woods and (eventually) into town. She'd managed to score some sensible-if-ill-fitting cotton clothing and a pair of slightly too-large boots in the process, but the most valuable item in her possession when she'd finally broken into the village proper had been the map she'd found in one of the boots.

Naturally, she'd tried to brute force hassle people for the answers to the multitude of questions swarming in her head, but that hadn't worked. Eventually, she'd backed off with the intention of coming up with something else.

It's been days since her arrival, though, and Nancy is still no closer to working out where she is or what exactly is going on. The festival and the idea behind it seem cute enough. Nancy isn't quite ready to start handing out trust to any of these people, but even she's smart enough to realize that playing along for the time being might be her best chance of getting answers.

So she mingles. Decked out in her sensible, plain wardrobe and pretty blue sash, Nancy puts on her best Colgate smile and tries to embody the appropriate level of excitement for the festivities. She'll sample fruits and drinks at the feast and engross herself in a solid few rounds of commanders and followers (even though it's fairly obvious which of those roles she feels more suited to). The cages are intriguing, if intimidating, and she finds herself stealing glances their way a number of times throughout the evening, before ultimately veering off in another direction toward the storytelling tent.

Wildcard

[Nancy is nosy by nature, so feel free to catch her just about anywhere. She'll have volunteered herself for the search party almost immediately, so I'm open to doing whatever with that as well. People are welcome to end up bound to her. IDK I'm pretty easy and open to whatever. Or hit me up @ cornyflake on plurk to plot or chat.]

I <3 Nancy so much

[twice_cursed]

Balthiel clocks the smile as being a little too bright, a little too intense. Not his personal style: bets have been laid if Balthiel himself has ever cracked a smile. It's the facial expression of prey, to him, prey trying to advertise that it is definitely too nice to pursue.

"Totally normal question: Are you having fun yet?" Because he's not. At all.

Cade | Changeling: The Lost (OC) | Wilk

[greatrack]

In the Woods Somewhere

Lost
Cade wakes with a start and sits up too fast. He rolls to his hands and knees as his stomach turns, but he's relieved not to actually retch. As he sits back on his heels, he realizes he is fully naked. Okay.

His heart is pounding and he looks around the unfamiliar forest, struggling to place it in his memory. For a moment, for a heart-twisting and breath-stealing moment, he fears he is back in Arcadia. Cade forces deep breaths and lets himself... feel. Would he even remember what it felt like? Would he know the difference?

No, no. He doesn't hear the baying of any hounds or the hoofbeats of horses or the horns and calls of hunters. Slowly, he stands and tries to get his bearings.

Found
"Hey, you look like you need a guide."

The man standing at the edge of the copse of trees is dressed simply with a small pack over his shoulder. Cade's been here for almost a week, and every day he's gone back out to the woods to see if there are others who are naked and afraid. Or, at the very least, in need of someone to help them get to town. And clothes.

He's trying to seem as nonthreatening as possible; at six and a half feet tall, that's something he's been practicing for the better part of his life.

Summer Festival

Identifying Mark
"Curse mark?" Cade is aware this is something he has, but he hasn't actually seen it... which likely means it's somewhere he can't easily see himself. "No idea. Hang on. Hold this?"

He hands the flower crown he had on his head to someone nearby. Then, without hesitation, Cade pulls off the tunic he's wearing. He tosses it over his shoulder long enough to pull his hair up into a knot on top of his head, then pulls the tunic away to ensure his entire torso is bared.

"Can anyone see it? If not this might get a little more interesting."

Perhaps to the dismay of some of those watching, the Wilk mark is on the back of his neck, just beneath the hairline at the base of his skull.

Commander and Follower
When the horn blows and it's announced that people with sashes like his are now commanders at the feast tables, Cade just grins. It's oddly familiar, a game he might have known (in some version) in a life he barely remembers. He grabs his heavy cup and promptly stands up on the bench he was sitting on, careful not to actually hit the people on either side of him.

"All right, I know that the wheel of fortune will turn and so I will be a benevolent master," he says with a balanced and sweeping bow. "Everyone at this table must turn to the person next to them and kiss - then share a secret. Inconsequential or close-kept, doesn't matter to me. Anyone who kisses me will get one."

Why limit himself to the people on either side, after all? The other commands he issues in the three hours of his rule include:

encouraging those with blue sashes to get drinks for everyone else at the table,

anyone born in summer must suggest a new food or drink to try to their neighbors and everyone else is obligated to at least take a taste,

red sash wearers must tell a joke (any kind) and will be judged accordingly,

everyone will play a betting game that involves stripping (though this may be cut off by the horn blowing)

When the horn blows three hours later, Cade graciously gives up his power. And if anyone wants petty revenge, he'll go along with it. Those are the rules, after all.

Tied Up
This isn't something he would have volunteered for. Maybe it's a drink that makes the big man more pliant at first, or maybe he's just going along with something until he realizes exactly what is happening. The moment any limb is too secure, panic stabs through Cade's chest and he can feel his heart beating hard--He'll probably have to be force-fed the herbal draught if someone can't talk him into calming down for the demonstration. It wouldn't do for one of the Void Touched to balk at such a benign contest, after all.

Changing, but Not

The woods are terrifying; the woods are comfortable. Far from the walls of the town, Cade leaves his things in the hollow of a tree and lets himself reach for the shape that was forced upon him ages and ages ago. He did not choose it, but he finds freedom in it now.

The transformation is not comfortable, but neither is it painful enough to dissuade him from doing it at all. It's... easier here. He isn't sure what to make of that yet, but he's sure it's not a good thing. Still, before long there is a massive stag standing where the man once was. He shakes his entire body, careful not to hit low branches with his antlers.

[ ooc: Cade will just be wandering around the woods. Fully open to people trying to hunt him. ]

Notes

[ I'll match your style if you prefer brackets! Cade is a changeling, which is to say he generally looks human but anyone who can smell or feel otherwise will know better. For those with exceptional senses of smell, his scent is that of earth and trees, leather, and stag. For those who sense magic in some other way, he's just... weird. He's not human anymore, not entirely.

More info about him here.

Feel free to PM or ping me at givemedragons with any questions! ]

command and follower > strip dice

[audentis]

Have you played farkle?

[ Hans reaches into a pouch on his belt and produces a small cup and a set of dice. He's absolutely played farkle with stripping roles before and although he has to follow this particular command, it's one he easily goes along with. ]

I can show you how if you haven't. Assuming you'll deign to play with me, Sir Commander.

Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, | The Witcher (books/game) | Diabel

[barbersurgeon]

[ ooc: Regis is a higher vampire in the Witcher world; those who can scent preternatural creatures could identify him as unusual, though he often carries strong-smelling herbs (think eucalyptus) to mask his scent. He avoids showing his teeth when he smiles, preferring close-lipped expressions when possible. Sunlight doesn't trouble him, nor does running water, holy objects, or silver. ]

In the Woods Somewhere

[ It's been a matter of days, but in that time Regis has secured himself clothes, lodging, a decent satchel, and a small knife. With the kindness of the apothecary, he also has a handful of vials and jars, should he find something he wishes to keep more carefully preserved. It is in this manner that he finds himself out in the woods, taking a meandering stroll with no particular destination in mind save where his curiosity guides him. Despite copious warnings from Rubeans and Void-Touched alike, he gently declined any offers from guides or guardians - he has every confidence in his ability to manager himself, but thank you. ]

A Follower
[ Whether it's a branch snapping or simply a sharper breath, it is at least the fifth or sixth thing his intrepid stalker has done to reveal their location, whether they mean to or not, and it is really quiet enough. With a quiet sigh, the modestly dressed gentleman stops and looks toward the canopy rather than in any particular direction. ]

You've done quite well, but I've known you were there for at least the last hour. You are welcome to continue following at a distance if you'd like, but I would much prefer a companion than a shadow.

[ Then he does turn his head, looking directly toward whoever decided to either check up on him or to investigate him out of some curiosity or another. ]

I'm out here collecting plants, if that's of any interest to you. This, for example, is remarkably similar to a plant I'm familiar with. [ Unconcerned, he crouches down and carefully cuts a sample of the plant in question. ] Is it called mugwort here? It's useful for a variety of things, I'd be pleased if this was its equivalent.

[ Apparently he intends to hold a conversation, even if it's only with himself. ]

The Boarding House

Communal Kitchen
[ If he's going to be living among others - which is both delightful and a bit concerning - Regis is determined to make himself useful. He's been a hermit for so long that it's been easy to forget how much he liked being around others.

Come late afternoon, he's in the boarding house kitchen. The long work table is laden with vegetables, herbs, and and kindly donated legs of mutton. He's procured an apron from somewhere to cover his clothes. He's used to repairing and cleaning his own things, but he would prefer to avoid scrubbing out blood or oil stains if he can help it, considering his currently limited wardrobe.

Though his bag of gathered plants sits on a stool out of the way, he still carries something with a strong medicinal smell in a pouch somewhere on his person. Regis takes a moment to wash his hands before plucking up paring knife and eyeing some carrots with purpose. He briefly glances up when the door opens and offers a warm smile. ]

Ah, you're just in time to help. Or were you looking for a snack?

Downtime
[ Between necessary errands or chores, Regis spends time in communal areas of the boarding house or in pleasant spots around the city. One afternoon, he spends a few hours making books at a table in the tavern or the boarding house. They aren't particularly special, though he is a very precise crafter. For the most part, they are journals with blank pages, made with paper of middling quality and soft covers sewn together with thread coated in beeswax.

By daylight or by candlelight in the evenings, he spends time sketching and cataloguing the plants he finds on his walks, taking detailed notes on leaf structure, style of growth, and thoughts for potential use whether medicinal, culinary, or other. He will happily identify plants that people bring to him, if he can. And if he can't, he adds them to his catalogue of unknowns - ones to ask local herbalists about when he gets the chance.

And, perhaps on a few occasions, he can be found contemplating the curse mark on the inside of his left forearm. ]

Festival of Summer's Eve

Rope Tying Contest
Now then, I feel that I should ask if you are ticklish or otherwise sensitive. Or hurt anywhere I should be mindful of?

[ Regis is quite interested in this contest, as this is a skill he is confident in and it is an art he admires. So why not try his hand, in good fun? But he will make sure that whoever has volunteered to be a subject is kept in one piece during the process - he is not interested in hurting anyone for this particular exercise. ]

Lock & Key
[ Regis holds up his hand when he realizes that, very cleverly, his wrist has been bound to someone else. He actually seems somewhat concerned by the fact that it was done quite artfully without his notice, but he can tell that there will be no getting out of this by any straightforward method. He sighs and looks at the person he is attached to. ]

I would prefer to avoid bloodshed, if you're amenable to a treasure hunt.

[ He is willing to consider bleeding enough to soak the cloth as a last resort, but given how he's felt lately, he isn't sure that it's something he wants to start with. ]

Inner Beast
[ cw: bloodlust, panic, transformation]

[ It feels like cramping at first: a twisting tightness in his muscles accompanied by a dizzy sort of headache. It's enough to make him leave the tavern on a lively evening, when everyone starts smelling... far too tasty. He should not be around people if they are actually feeling like temptations.

What could have caused this? He's observed the customs, hasn't he? And yet he feels the teeth in his mouth elongate, and he is aware that he is losing his grip on his more human shape. His features pinch and his usually well-manicured nails become long claws. Normally this sort of change is voluntary on his part and yet it feels now like it is being pulled out of him, or like the manners and control he has kept for so long is being peeled away. This isn't good, and it is distressing when he realizes that he cannot so easily--pull himself back together, as it were. It has never hurt before.

If nothing else, he must get out of the town. ]

[ ooc: Regis will be actively resisting his transformation and trying very hard to get away from people. But don't let that stop you. His initial transformation remains humanoid, but later he will turn into a giant bat. ]

Wildcard
[ I am fine with brackets or prose, I'll match your preferred style. Find Regis around town! I'm also happy to have him run into new arrivals who are naked and lost.

Regis will spend his time wandering between town and forest and fields. He is reserved, but not unfriendly. If you ask him a question, you absolutely run the risk of him slipping into lecture mode. There is more info about him on his journal. ]

follower

[fortunaiuvat]

[ Henry's gotten a bit rusty when it comes to stealth, and certainly in the forest, so he's a bit startled but not entirely surprised to have been spotted. Whoops. ]

Er... Sorry about that.

[ He steps out from a copse of trees, rubbing his neck. He's dressed in simple clothes and simple colors, with an empty pouch and a few herbs hanging from his belt. ]

Truthfully, I was out picking herbs, too. I saw you, and... well.

[ And followed in silence like a creep. Just a bit. But Henry quickly steps closer to take a look at the herbs in question. ]

Is that like wormwood?

charlotte mac an rìgh, duchess of rothes | original | skala

[antiquities]

the festival of summer’s eve

outdoor feast

Of average height and with a bearing of command that adds an easy six inches in sheer force of personality, upon discovering that it is her turn to call the shots, Charlotte does not hesitate but to turn to the nearest person more pleasingly attired than in the mismatched cotton cast-offs she had managed to acquire on her way out of the woods (and at least of a height or taller with herself). She delivers her instruction with the air of expectation that comes from a good decade and a half at the top of the heap:

“Strip.”

rope-tying contest

Appealing, at once, to both Charlotte’s desire to understand her new circumstances — what better way to understand these people than to participate? and to find out what exactly they think a suitable prize, given the nature of all these events — and her ego, she regards the already-rigged volunteers with a critical, competitive eye.

“Are you to be tied?” she asks, her accent Scottish, refined, and the look she casts over her potential partner assessing.

She certainly looks confident in her skills.

wildcard

( hmu! local fancy golddigger will be out and about participating in the culture. you can find me at keanuleaves if you want to brainstorm! apologies for the brevity of my prompts, i give good rp i swear.

info in her journal, i am taking her from age 32! )

feasts.

[damnedest]

Lestat is, to her credit, the most pleasingly attired person here. In his opinion. Textures and colour and embroidery, light fabrics for the summer evening, matching the red sash he is wearing to denote his monsterhood.

So: he hesitates. Flicks a look of her up and down.

New, he thinks, in spite of her certain and confident participation of a strange game. He thinks he saw her in her early days.

"When in Rome, madame?"

rumi | kpop demon hunters | skala

[allkills]

in the woods somewhere

Dejected and alone but thrumming with possibility, full of that reckless idea of freedom that follows losing everything, Rumi doesn't even have to think about it. It's her first attempt to use this power, calling on buried instinct, but it just feels right. That's a standout sensation for Rumi, who has only ever felt wrong.

Too bad it doesn't work as intended. Rather than sending herself back to the stadium, Rumi jolts awake in a whirlwind of flailing limbs kicking up crisp fallen leaves. She doesn't know where she went wrong but it must have been enough to knock her unconscious. She also managed to leave her clothes behind somehow. With a shiver, Rumi parts her knee-length purple hair and drapes one half over each shoulder, covering her breasts like a cartoon mermaid.

She doesn't recognize the woods where she woke up but that is no reason to panic. The panic only sets in after she tries it again, dissipating into pink plumes only to reappear in the center of what looks like a period film — and not even a Korean one. Rumi swallows, suddenly feeling queasy but unsure if it was from using her demon powers or from finding herself so far from where she intended.

A naked girl alone is not enough to earn curious, even suspicious glances from Rubeans. It's a different story when that naked girl manifests from a pink cloud and is covered in strange patterns, some of them glowing. Her right hand has turned bruise purple, fingers lengthened into claws, and her left eye shines yellow around a vertical slit pupil. She looks a lot like someone who has neglected to vent zadza for weeks and is now mid-transformation. It's not a very forgiving position to be in, these days, and some natives crowd her with invasive questions.

Confused and overwhelmed, Rumi does what any girl does to stay grounded: she reaches for her sword. Her demon hand curls around thin air in the shape of what could be a hilt; ribbons of dazzling blue light start to take the very same shape, filling the space between Rumi's fingers and extending into a long blade. With her sword fully formed, Rumi grips both hands tight around the hilt and holds it up in front of her, both warning and deterrent.

"What is happening here?" she demands. The townsfolk don't look like demons but she still has to ask, a small tremble in her voice: "Is this Gwi-Ma's domain?"

the festival of summer's eve

Some days later, on a Thursday, Rumi innocently assumes that she can take an idle walk without interruption. She has clearly put effort into normalizing her appearance since arriving. She still has the patterns but they aren't glowing with demonic energy and her right hand is back to normal. Her hair is once more styled in its iconic braid and she wears an outfit consisting of a lace bustier over a crisp shirt tucked into trousers. It's the sort of look that absolutely does not work until a trendsetting superstar says otherwise. She even found a little rouge for her cheeks and lips.

All that effort may have been where she went wrong. If she'd looked more understated she might have escaped noticed, but as it is Rumi barely makes it out of the boarding house before a green sash is thrust over her head. Then she is politely but insistently shuffled up to a teammate for the rope tying contest. A keen-eyed partner may notice the light flush in her cheeks when she admits that she lacks the skill or experience to do the tying.

Later, she finds herself in another strongly encouraged partnership. This time, she isn't being bound herself but bound to someone. Distress marks her expression as Rumi listens to the rules for the game of lock and key. The Rubean who captured Rumi and her fellow unlucky Void-Touched conveniently runs off after explaining how the two can regain their independence. Angry, futilely, Rumi shouts threats after their retreating silhouette, promising to find them when she frees herself.

wildcard & ooc

[ Hit me with whatever ya got or PM to chat it over first. Rumi's canon point is following her last conversation with Celine. ]

in the woods

[twice_cursed]

The smell of the daemonic is strange--not the acrid stink he's used to, but he can smell it, tickling the back of his brain. He'd been following the scent to its roots, from the woods, where he normally hunted.

He's not messing with anything until he has to, partly because he doesn't know who to trust around here, but when she pulls out that sword, well, he has to do something.

There's a flare of blue sigils from somewhere off to one side, a quick bit of sorcery, to stay her hand and prevent her from swinging that blade. "What's happening around here is you putting that the fuck away."

Sinclair Aberdeen, OC – Niez

[offed]

the quaint, historic town.

She wanted a dramatic entrance or at the very least an impressive one but arrives in a too-big coat that swamps her in holey fabric – it was all she could find in those dismal caches that mostly fit. She is tall. And the coat does not compliment her either it washes her out, and is too short in the hem, and shows both ankles and half her shins — but there are far bigger problems to hand.

She is immediately depressed by the old cobblestone paths and walls, the gas lamps, the people dragging their pale-faced children around by the hand — all this antiquity is dreadfully familiar.

"Ah." It bursts out of her, louder than intended, disappointment sharp on her tongue. She draws the stupid coat tighter around herself, arms tucking across her front. Her brow creases artfully. All signs point toward an imminent meltdown. "No, not again."

claim a bedroom.

Anybody unlucky enough to try her door to see what is inside is met at it by Sinclair's unsmiling face, hair wet and slicked back. She lingers pointedly between the door and its frame, keeping it well shut so that a sliver is visible beyond her body.

"Unfortunately the other bed is taken — I've saved it for someone who went down for dinner."

Her hand, where it curls around the door, is cold, its skin pale and nails bitten. All that is currently on the other bed is a mattress as Sinclair has robbed it for its sheets and pillow. "Can I help you with something else?"

lock & key. (cw blood and potential biting)

"Finally." Sinclair draws her bound wrist up between the two of you, angling the binding — she is not a strong person but she moves quick, with confidence and purpose. She drops her head. This place wants participation, demands it — fine. She can play the game.

She opens her mouth to where you are joined. Her fangs slide smoothly into view.

wildcard.

F/F only for anything sexual — and down for anything, really, if you have another idea. More info about Sinclair can be found here. Hit me up at blisters if you like!

undramatic entrance.

[damnedest]

Lestat has finished his grocery shopping.

Something he does now, with infrequency. The boarding house has a supply of provisions, but if they want anything exciting, it's up to them to see to it, and so—dangling off his fingers is a string bag containing a couple of jars of preserves, a cloth-wrapped loaf, a bottle of wine, some dried herbs bound in twine, and a wedge of cheese. Maybe it's giving French girl dinner, maybe so.

He has turned a corner a little ahead of this other person, and the street is quiet enough that her words carry, so he looks. Struck by what he sees. A newcomer, his first besides himself, looking as poorly provisioned as he was, as imminently close to hysterics as he found himself.

"What not again?" he queries, a direct question projected from where he's stopped. In the drab street, he's managed to acquire some colours—earth toned trousers, but a shirt of deep rust red, and a patterned waistcoat adorned in colourful beads. "Happens to you a lot, this?"

jinu | kpop demon hunters | skala (u heard me)

[jeoseung_saja]

i. out of the frying pan;

Jinu's most certainly not the first person to wake up in these woods and wonder if they are in hell. He is, however, likely one of the few to have already spent a few centuries in hell and therefore dismiss the notion just as quickly. Despite the dank green cast of the trees across the ground and his naked body, it's still nicer than where he came from, and the lighting's all wrong. It renders the jagged purple of his patterns sort of puce and . . . earthy, which might be an interesting play on words if one were writing a song about a demon waking up in a strange and ominous forest, but in practice isn't very flattering.

It's the work of a moment to hide the patterns beneath his skin; preternaturally extended, almost clawed fingers retracting and rounding out as he pushes a palm against the ground to stand; the yellow glow of his eyes fading into soft brown as he continues to take in his surroundings. Despite the sounds of wildlife, there's something eerily quiet about the place. He doesn't think it's entirely inside his head — just look at that darkness — but it also makes him realize what else isn't, the same hand coming up to hover momentarily next to his ear. He can't hear their voices; he can't hear Gwi-Ma. It's only the second time in his long existence and in recent memory that it's happened, but this time he's not so sure it signifies anything good. He braces for his patterns to light him up like a glow stick, to get sucked back down, still easily able to imagine that voice mocking him for thinking his wasted soul was enough to destroy Gwi-Ma, to save Rumi—

Nothing. There's nothing, and after a while he starts to feel like an idiot entirely of his own doing, standing naked in the middle of the woods paralyzed by fear of a kotgahm. He takes a step, and then another. Eventually, he finds himself in town, something very familiar about the dirt streets that confirm he's far from Seoul. He's glad to see the scarf vendor, despite how unimpressed the local children appear to be with his nudity, but still takes his time picking one that suits him before draping it across his hips, surprised when the woman at the stall waves off his winsome excuses for not being able to pay her. Given the state of what he's seen so far, he doesn't see how she can afford to be so generous. But he's not about to argue with her.

Ever the opportunist, Jinu.

ii. the stories we tell ourselves;

Apparently he's traded a demon king for a vengeful goddess. No one dares say the word aloud, but the brittle smiles at the festival as people try to disguise their fear tells Jinu all he needs to know. He's lived under that same fear for centuries.

He enters the tent after a full day of dodging the exhibitions, somewhat satisfied with himself despite the discovery that he can't use his powers to move around. He hasn't partaken of the feast because he doesn't need to, but he knows how effective a temptation it would be otherwise. There no dignity in starvation, no pride that can fill an empty belly.

But he wants to know more about this. And he's not foolishly refusing to ever participate in the so-called festivities. He knows he will for his own survival, and pretending otherwise would just be tiresome. He's simply getting the lay of the land, which may not be the underworld but could certainly be argued where he deserves to be.

"What if you're already a monster?" he says in a vaguely curious, vaguely wry undertone to the person sitting next to him, his posture seeming relaxed as he leans back on his elbows. Don't take the question too seriously, stranger.

But it's far from hypothetical, and as the headiness of the incense begins to amplify the nature of the stories, the question becomes imminent. He looks down at his hands, fingers starting to elongate, patterns rippling into visibility across his joints, his knuckles, his wrist. He's sure his eyes glow yellow in the dark, pupils narrowing to vertical slits. Transformation, or is this just him? Despite his earlier surety, the sudden control it takes over him is familiar but startling in its lack of direction. No one puppeting him, just fear that he can't seem to get a grasp on, even as his fists curl tight.

iii. ooc & wildcards;

( will match prose or brackets! jinu is from the end of the movie, so beware spoilers, though I've tried to keep them minimal. feel free to throw down a wildcard or hmu via pm or jeeps! )

II

[twice_cursed]

"Then you get an extra monster to worry about." FUN, so fun. Balthiel hates it. Because now instead of just worrying about the Black Rage or the Red Thirst or daemons snatching him in the Warp, he has to worry about this stupid zadza creation.

caprica six. battlestar galactica. skala.

[xerampelinae]

out of the woods;

[ Six has made it out of the woods.

She paces down the cobbled streets with a certain amount of dazed calm, a sleek woman with a halo of yellow blonde hair, dressed in a man's tunic that preserves her modesty by a few inches. Her legs and feet are bare, and dirt clings to her skin as evidence of the unexpected hike into town. No stagger, no stumble, no pain or exhaustion, she is tireless in her wander.

And so it isn't injury or fatigue that causes her to stop where she is, a random point in a thoroughfare where humans in garb as though they are from a play drift around her as if they aren't real. No physical ailment that has her simply fold into a sitting position on the stone ground, tip her head back in wonder at the sky, and not really mind the disturbance this causes as Rubeans trying to go about their day have to swerve.

But she may not be okay. ]

lock and key;

Are you human?

[ She is assessing the binding that attaches you to her, a natural instinct to find some secret third option than the two being presented. The sash she has tied around her waist is green, which is a little annoying. It's not, in her opinion, her colour.

But anyway, ]

I'd like to test its strength without breaking your arm.

[ Ideally. ]

prison bars;

[ From your view inside the cage, its cloth coverings, maybe you see a flash of long legs, sandals, the drape of a skirt. Someone outside, stalking your cage in a circle, curious.

She stops. Lowers herself in a sinuous crouch, a hand balancing on the ground. ]

Hello.

[ ooc ; or wildcard me! you can dm me here or contact me on plurk withpanache for any questions or brainstorming. ]

lock n key

[offed]

— Beg pardon?

(A jarring thing to be asked. Sinclair can't remember if anybody has said that to her before, because vampires all know each other and humans never think to ask that question when they could, instead, assume.

Recovering, she adds firmly,) I am not but my arm will break much the same way, so you know.

Elidibus | Final Fantasy 14 | Niez

[dutydriven]

Arriving - Clothes, Bedrooms...

[ An Ascian, an Ancient, knows where they go once they "die". Even with his soul spent the way it was, Elidibus knows where he was headed. Naked, corporeal, in the middle of a strange wood is not even remotely close to that place. When he opens his eyes, there is a brief moment of panic that seizes his chest. Has he forgotten something, again? It's likely, and he knows that, has weathered it for centuries. But surely something this drastic...

No. He sits up, looking around carefully. Like a silly newborn foal he gets to his feet and finds some balance against one of the white trees (he doesn't care that it's chilling or bone-like, especially not at the moment). The only way to find answers is to get them yourself, and so he is quick to begin his exploration.

Perhaps you are lucky enough to encounter him after he finds a clothing cache and slips on some shorts and a shirt — he doesn't care for the style but what can you do. If you aren't lucky, hope his lack of embarrassment in being totally naked isn't an embarrassment for you. ]

This place ... is wrong. Why am I here?

[ That may be one of the first things he says to you! His voice is far too deep to match the youthfulness of his face, that's for sure.

Later on, whether you've made it to town together or separated, he finds his way to the boarding house. He sits alone, not eating much, and eventually searches for a bedroom. He doesn't particularly need one, he thinks, but he will need a place to go for now. If you stumble upon the same room, he's not unfriendly but he's not exactly looking forward to the "and they were roommates" sort of life either. ]

Must you stay here?

[ He'll probably warm up to you. Maybe. Particularly if your soul is particularly vibrant and pure... ]

Feasts, cages...

[ Elidibus doesn't like not knowing things and certainly hates being among the last to know, but unfortunately he is unaware of the city's customs and its free usage of aphrodisiacs. To his credit (maybe) he's also not eating much in general, but he has tried some of the ices and fruits.

He seems rather neutral about the whole affair, not particularly enjoying himself or interested in doing so. In fact he may seem confused or even a bit morose if left sitting alone for too long. It's also not a masquerade or anything but he's wearing a mask he's summoned over his face. It's like a security blanket, don't worry about it. He's not doing his role as Emissary of his people much credit at the moment, but in his defense all of this has been a terrible way to introduce one's culture to complete strangers.

Without anyone to really rile him up, toward the middle and later halves of the festivities, the Duchess has quite frankly had enough with his unbiased opinion on the whole affair. He's been tossed into a cage and is considerably more unpleasant to deal with as he cannot simply portal right back out of it again. ]

Do not stare at me so. [ It's not so bad in here. He's a really good liar, also. ]

Wildcard

[ anything else! I'm up for pretty much anything, gen/smut/positive/negative/etc. just getting over the flu and new-person jitters LOL. ..taps fingers together...
Elidibus is much older than he appears and if you are canon familiar, I probably will take him after his last hurrah helping you on the First but I'm not fully decided. My plurk is haurchefant if you wanna message me for any reason! ]

clothing cache

[audentis]

[ Hans is out hunting, which is a real life job he has now. (A job, imagine!) It does make it rather easy to run into new arrivals who are out and about, and so it is that he happens upon Elidibus, fresh from finding some clothes. ]

I don't think anyone will have a good answer to that for you. But it's definitely strange. It doesn't stop feeling that way no matter how long you're here.

adrianna | hell motel | niez

[thrillcount]

i. potential disashter.

( Parties have never exactly been her thing, and compounded with the harsh reality that she still doesn't really grasp where she is, how she could have possibly gotten here, and who any of these people are... none of this really fits Adrianna's definition of a fun time.

That being said, she's definitely not about to throw a fit over it — this event is clearly a town tradition, and loudly objecting would be both impolite and potentially dangerous; it's not the former she's worried about.

Still, everything's more tolerable with a few drinks, so she gulps down (in a ladylike manner of course, if such a thing is possible) a few glasses of whatever it is that's in front of her, because fuck it, at this point why not. It doesn't have the harsh burn of straight alcohol, but it has that same pleasant, hazy effect on her head, so it will definitely do.

Oh, and the grey sash fits her vibe well enough, too — she's glad she ended up with that one.

...At least until she realises what it signifies. Apparently, at least for right now, "grey" means "follow people's orders no matter what." )

Um, what the fuck. ( The rude outburst slips out, but considering the circumstances, doesn't a girl deserve at least one complimentary curse word?

Without hesitation, she turns to the nearest person wearing the "commanding" colour, and hits them with an icy (if not very intimidating) stare. )

Don't even think about asking me to do anything weird. ( Something something flies and honey and vinegar. Time to try this again. ) ...sorry, that was a bit of an impulsive reaction, wasn't it? Let's rewind — hello, my name is Adriana, and it's very nice to meet you. Maybe we could make a fun game out of this instead of getting too crazy? ( Well, an attempt was made. )

ii. sorry, i'm a little tied up rn.

( Alright, making a public competition out of what's essentially bondage and shibari is a little strange, sure, but she comes from a world where competitive tickling is actually a thing (yes, she's seen the documentary — true crime fanatics cover all subgenres).

It seems pretty harmless, and maybe even a little fun...? She's no stranger to being tied up, that's for sure; it's comparatively vanilla to Adrianna. So yes, she'll volunteer to be a rope bunny. )

If you're tying me up, you better win this thing. ( She eyes her game partner with a cheeky grin on her face. ) We're taking first place! Don't worry about tightness or whatever, I'm not gonna complain.

iii. r/nosleep got nothing on this.

( Spooky stories? She's heard it all — or so she thinks. That Toto we're not in Kansas anymore feeling doesn't fully hit Adrianna until she listens to some of these tales; whether they're real or not, a lot of them are like nothing she's ever heard before. While yes, her eyes do glaze over listening to a few, there are equal amounts that keep her on the edge of her seat, rapt and locked in. Well played, fellow void touched.

After a particularly impressive story, she can't help but approach the person who'd recounted it, holding up her half-empty drink as though she were making a toast to them. ) Cheers to chilling my temperature-resisting bones. ( She takes a sip, and then laughs a little. ) In other words, great story, you slayed the competition.

I'm not even gonna try to top it, but if you'd like to hear a bit of an underwhelming story, I could tell you about my ex-husband. ...or the time I stayed in a haunted hotel. ( It's clearly less about the stories themselves, and more about being a conversation opener — the drink is making her sociable, moreso than she's ever felt before. )

iv. it's time to w-w-w-wildcard!

[ i'm literally up for basically anything here! friendly chat, enemies, GONE SEXUAL (not clickbait) with any gender, violence of all kinds, throw it at me (no animal abuse/death is my only limit). if your character is an evil killer type, she'll probably be all over you, here's your warning. i'm also in game with cole hill from clown in a cornfield so if you'd like to interact with him instead/as well, just lmk! find me at chaimilk or feel free to dm this account! ]

potential disashter.

[damnedest]

[ The man she turns to makes a little theatrical show of offense for this outburst, a hand pressed to his chest (and the bright red sash he wears across it) and standing leaning back from her. Amusement only barely detectable in the way he looks her up and down as she fumbles her way to better grace, the corner of his mouth twinging upwards. ]

Well, Adrianna, [ dropping his hand to his side. ] One man's fun is another man's crazy, but bien sûr, I will do my best.

[ Where to start? At the beginning. ]

Try one more time to say hello to me with good manners. Throw in a curtsey.

Janosh Uher | Kingdom Come Deliverance | diabel probably!?

[hungariansausage]

i. Naked

[ Being dropped into precarious and strange situations is something that the band of brothers Janosh belongs to is well versed in, so there are probably others who freak out a lot more about waking up naked in the woods. This is better than literally drowning in shit (it happened) or being locked up in a bee-line straight for the noose, so he'll take it!

Still he is a good Christian man so he would prefer not to be naked as the day he was born just in front of everyone and the whole world. He's also not extremely embarrassed. Just ... determined, as he makes his way into people's yards and towards their laundry.

Indeed he's a good Christian man which is how he knows that the Lord will forgive him for stealing someone else's clothing to make himself decent. Other people aren't as understanding as the Lord is though, so when his suspicious behavior is pointed out by anyone, he just pretends like nothing is going on at all. ]

Oh yeah? I was just passing through. Why you didn't tell me there's a boarding house nearby? [ He laughs kind of obnoxiously like he, a dirty naked Hungarian (Slovakian) man, can't believe what a silly goof YOU are, rolling his hand around to get you to move along. ] Quickly, show it to me before this owner come out and find us here!

ii. They were roommates

[ NEWLY CLOTHED and washed up a bit, and with his belly filled (la cuisine? He's had worse), Janosh is on a mission to find a room. That basically means he's going to march into the first one that he can find with an empty bed and plop down on it whether he's alone or not. If he's not, he simply looks at his new roommate like you're best friends. ]

Ah, now this! This is more like it.

[ As compared to ... what? Don't worry about it. He smiles, friendly enough. ]

We share this room, yes? But if you try anything that is not accepted in eyes of God, I fucking kill you. [ Still smiling, probably. ]

iii. Lock & Key

[ Lastly but not leastly, Janosh will almost always attend a party unless he is otherwise detained, so you could say he's a willing participant in the festivities, even if he has not fully grasped the situation he's in or what the truth is behind their "captors" or the citizens here or even fellow off-worlders like himself.

He knows enough to keep his head down and out of the way, and that's what he does, avoiding certain punishments or interactions that will garner too much attention — aside from what his heavy accent and boisterous behaviors already pull in. It doesn't completely save him from the all the games, though he's not all that concerned to be locked up via ankle or wrist to a complete stranger. Nor is he perturbed by the idea of violence, so you should probably suggest hunting for the key if you're not up for a brawl. ]

Is no worry! Could be much worse, eh?

Wildcard

(idk what i'm doing, just hit me up!)

wildcard (also, major kcd2 spoilers. shocking i know)

[polishsausage]

( when you’ve known someone for such a very long time, some stuff stays with you — their mannerisms, their gait, just the way they hold themselves when standing still. little things like that.

adder knows it’s janosh before the other man even turns around. he's just... there. walking down the street, like he belongs here.

all at once a terrible amalgamation of anger and grief and relief seizes adder, each wrestling for dominance as adder himself fights the initial urge to turn around and leave like a fucking coward. it’s just —

— fuck, he’s not prepared for this. it’s not right that he should even have to be. the last time he'd seen janosh should have been the last fucking time, and adder should be rotting in a pit with a dozen other men right now, and the rest of the pack should be making off with all that silver.

but they're both here. for whatever reason, they're here. anger muscles its way to the forefront of everything and adder thinks that he would chop the duchess to pieces right now if he could.

though... maybe janosh is like henry and hans - strangely out of sync, with memories that don't quite align with adder's. maybe he doesn't know yet. )

You came all this way for that groschen I owe you? ( adder finally calls out, doing a pretty damn good job of forcing a devil-may-care attitude if he does say so himself — then again, if anyone could tell he’s just putting it on, it would be janosh.

(his mouth is dry. it feels like his words are sticking to his tongue.)

he grins. ) Well fuck you, you prick! I still don’t have it.