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rubilykskoye mods ([personal profile] rubimods) wrote in [community profile] rubimemes2025-08-15 12:13 pm
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SUMMER TEST DRIVE MEME

⚰︎ ⍢ ⌲ ⍚ 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.

FAQSETTINGCALENDARRESERVESAPPLICATIONS



IN THE WOODS SOMEWHERE

The chirping of partridges in the treetops rouses you. Light barely filters through the canopy, just enough to suggest daylight. By the time it reaches the forest floor, the light has taken on a sickly green. You lie amongst the 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.



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.



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.



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.


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?
priste: (10)

Kell Maresh | Shades of Magic | Niez

[personal profile] priste 2025-08-15 08:05 pm (UTC)(link)
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 [plurk.com profile] baldurian if you wanna plot! ]
evokethestarsabove: (they’ll come through the fold)

Alasdair Mac an Rìgh | original | Wilk

[personal profile] evokethestarsabove 2025-08-15 08:29 pm (UTC)(link)

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 [plurk.com profile] prettiestwhistles or DM the journal if you'd like to plot something OOCly.]
gramaire: (pic#16423211)

early;

[personal profile] gramaire 2025-08-15 09:10 pm (UTC)(link)
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?"
evokethestarsabove: (I know it's true)

[personal profile] evokethestarsabove 2025-08-15 09:19 pm (UTC)(link)
Depending on the time her voice (and the rest of her) is from, 16th century phrasing may sound strange or familiar to her ear. The Scottish accent, however, will be hard to miss regardless.

"I am only going on what I've gathered," he says, frank if not quite apologetic. (He's already had to get over how strange speaking without being introduced feels; that, at least, he can manage.) "But I think it's ... the game with the commanders and the followers. It means roles have changed, but I cannot tell you what the new ones are. I haven't worked out, entirely, whether there's a set order or there's some other indication."

He adds a look of muted sympathy. "I've also newly arrived, so I am learning as I go, I'm afraid. I wouldn't want to lead you astray through overconfidence." He's been eating a bit as well, though seemingly more to be polite than out of a strong appetite for it. Stopping to talk to someone is no hardship.
gramaire: (pic#16423212)

[personal profile] gramaire 2025-08-15 09:32 pm (UTC)(link)
Hailing only several centuries later, there's a note of familiarity in his phrasing, but his accent is even more distinct for someone who has never left England until now. It prompts Ada to glance away from where some at the table seem to be trading places in favor of examining him a bit more closely.

"The rules have changed," she echoes, almost absently, looking between him and the rest of the attendees with some visible trepidation, a furrow forming between her brows. It's what he offers next, however, that she latches onto more directly, even leaning forward in her seat to better continue their conversation.

"You've only just arrived here, you said?" The notion that someone else has been plucked out of their home and dropped into a strange world makes her feel less uneasy, but Ada's curiosity overrides her manners in this particular instance. "From where?"
twice_cursed: (avoidant)

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

[personal profile] twice_cursed 2025-08-15 10:10 pm (UTC)(link)
[ 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. ]
priste: (01)

[personal profile] priste 2025-08-15 10:28 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Balthiel is quite tall. At 6 feet, Kell is hardly short but he finds himself looking up at Balthiel and just staring for a moment before Balthiel's question catches up with him.

Right, yes, the knife. ]


I want to try something.

[ Why else? Though it belatedly occurs to him that he's a strange man in a forest asking for a sharp object and so he tacks on: ]

I won't hurt you.
twice_cursed: (introspect)

[personal profile] twice_cursed 2025-08-15 10:49 pm (UTC)(link)
[Balthiel has spent some time around baselines, so he's not entirely unused to being the largest person in the room or woods or wherever. Though it's still weird to him. ]

Try what? [Don't be sketchy around the space wizard. He will out-sketchy you. But he will also hand over a short blade he'd tucked in his belt for skinning.

He gave a snort.]
You look smart enough to not even try.
damnedest: (lestat-00076)

early-later.

[personal profile] damnedest 2025-08-15 11:42 pm (UTC)(link)
"You."

This address is not so imperious in tone, more soft-spoken than it could be but direct enough to steer Alasdair's focus. Lestat is seated a little out of the way of the main banquet table, lounging with an ankle kicked up onto knee. There is a faint rosy blush to his face, slightly emphasised by the crimson sash he wears across his torso, a matching ribbon binding his hair in a half-up fashion.

A mildly bleary blue-eyed look trawls over this stranger. New, Lestat thinks, or guesses. He can't be sure. He has not been here very long and maybe this one is reclusive. But maybe it's just something in his manner.

"I'm hungry," he tells him. It is the phase in which the red-wearing attendees are given leave to make their demands. He hasn't indulged much. He indulges now. "You will fetch me a plate, and," he extends an arm to hand over his empty cup, "a refill."
Edited 2025-08-15 23:46 (UTC)
evokethestarsabove: (I'd broke my back just trying to feel)

[personal profile] evokethestarsabove 2025-08-15 11:56 pm (UTC)(link)
"Scotland," would be dry except it seems that not everyone here has heard of Scotland, so it's just as possible she's not from where she sounds like to him. "I was at home before I woke up here. About three days' journey northeast of the city of Glasgow, if you've heard of it." Even if she's from a world like his, he wouldn't expect her to know the smaller towns nearby.

"And you?" he adds. Either are you newly arrived or, probably more likely, where did you come from?
evokethestarsabove: (who protects the ones I love)

[personal profile] evokethestarsabove 2025-08-16 12:01 am (UTC)(link)
It's an order well within the boundaries of the game's rules, and Alasdair gets to his feet to take the cup. There's a fluidity to his motions that isn't inebriation, though given the man's poker face, maybe he's just wearing it well. The blue sash is neat, still in place.

By accident or design, his fingers brush Lestat's when he takes the cup, but he doesn't linger over it. "What," he says in a quiet but distinct brogue, "were you drinking?" Precise; a refill means more of the same, so he mustn't go off-script.
priste: (09)

cw self-harm for blood magic

[personal profile] priste 2025-08-16 12:23 am (UTC)(link)
It's complicated.

[ If this is Grey London (it's not, he knows it's not, just like he knows this isn't home), or some other place without magic, the last thing he wants to do to is go explaining the concept in its entirety.

Although, really, faced with a man like Balthiel maybe he doesn't need to worry about that.

Luckily, Balthiel hands over the blade anyway. He takes it and slices his left palm, letting blood drip down from it. He doesn't have a token, so he can't open a door, but he can at least make sure his magic still works. ]


As Illumae.

[ For a moment there's simply nothing, and then light bursts from his palm where he's bleeding and he lets out a sigh of relief. ]
voxt: (07)

Holland Vosijk | Shades of Magic | Skala

[personal profile] voxt 2025-08-16 12:53 am (UTC)(link)
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 [plurk.com profile] cantito! ]
damnedest: (lestat-00091)

[personal profile] damnedest 2025-08-16 01:03 am (UTC)(link)
Lestat smiles broadly, first.

Who knows why. He has his fun in private. Maybe the accent is pretty. Maybe he is glad to find someone who will play along, enough for precision. "I was enjoying the red," he says, and he crooks a finger towards where the barrels are set up. His index finger is decorated with a ring of polished, reddish wood, a braided carving.

Not as much finery as he'd like, but he has done his best. His boots are polished, and his clothes colourful, avoiding boring hues of simple earthtones. Flowery embroidery decorates a fancy sleeve. "The one on the far left."
voxt: (04)

regency - void au

[personal profile] voxt 2025-08-16 01:33 am (UTC)(link)
[ 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.
priste: (03)

[personal profile] priste 2025-08-16 01:44 am (UTC)(link)
[ Kell's smile turns warm and conspiratorial. He's known Holland for years, of course, always on each other's perimeter. Holland is a second son, and Kell is high enough ranked that there are certainly those who have suggested it would be a strong match, even in whispers.

Well, at least where Kell can hear. They know better than to risk the ire of the foreign prince. ]


It's a pity you have to come all this way just to be brought here. There's so much more to London than ballrooms. In fact...

[ He glances around them. Could they sneak out? Kell has plenty of practice at it, but he's also only vaguely out of place in his evening wear, while Holland's whites will stick out like a sore thumb.

Plus there's the issues of the mamas like vultures watching their every move. ]


maybe later, after things have quieted down. There's a lovely little tavern I only get to visit when I'm here. Everyone recognizes me at the pub in my village. It's too awkward.

[ Sometimes you want to pretend to be a commoner. It's not weird! (it's weird). ]
voxt: (09)

[personal profile] voxt 2025-08-16 02:21 am (UTC)(link)
[ They know better indeed. Holland is notoriously difficult to please, and it's only his status as a second son (and the lies spread about the one woman he did try to court, in his youth,) that has ensured that he remains undesirable to the eyes of the Ton. After all, who would want to marry someone so cold, and have to leave their home besides?

But Holland makes his appearances—Makt and the British Empire are allies, which means attending parties in his brother's stead. Even if he doesn't enjoy it. Seeing Kell is a highlight, if only because the boy manages to be interesting, if a little ridiculous at times.
]

Once the vultures have had their full, you mean?

[ Holland chuckles low, the barest hint of a smile inching up the corner of his lips. He isn't at all surprised to hear that Kell frequents his local tavern. The commoners probably find his appearance deeply unnerving.

But a cheap pub would for a good distraction. And lord knows, he couldn't do the same anywhere in Makt.
]

It would have to be better than this.

[ Holland looks down at himself, knowing his clothes would out him instantly. But it's not like he only owns his regalia. He could manage something in gray, for a bit of an excursion. ]
priste: (15)

[personal profile] priste 2025-08-16 03:38 am (UTC)(link)
The drinks are much worse.

[ This somehow sounds positive when he says it. ]

And the company is awful, no one wants to talk to you.

[ Again, a net win in his book! ]

Two people might be able to have a....real conversation there.

[ This he says with a pointed look. He might not be married, but he's hardly a blushing virgin. Maybe he's a bit emboldened tonight. He's never flirted with Holland openly before, always far too nervous to try. Tonight, though, he feels braver. ]
voxt: (04)

[personal profile] voxt 2025-08-16 03:58 am (UTC)(link)
[ The little marquess has some bite to him, it seems. Holland can't say he hates it, entirely. Though he'll be damned if he lets it show. ]

That sounds almost appealing.

[ Something two of them have shared in common for some time. Kell is young, but he's not too bad on the eyes. And they've at least grumbled at enough parties for Holland to know that he's not just putting on airs for the sake of flattering him. A conversation, anywhere else, wouldn't be so bad. ]

Perhaps I might enjoy it, if the company is tolerable.

[ That's as good as a compliment from Holland Vosijk. ]
corpsecleaner: (pic#17923202)

Maadiv Shazaraad | OC | Wilk

[personal profile] corpsecleaner 2025-08-16 03:59 am (UTC)(link)
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."

(([profile] 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.))
Edited 2025-08-16 04:38 (UTC)
guapa: (lili 01b)

Lilí Gómez Espinoza | Bandidos | Wilk

[personal profile] guapa 2025-08-16 04:20 am (UTC)(link)
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 [plurk.com profile] baldurian again hit me up with whatever you got while i try to decide who might be a better fit ]
priste: (03)

[personal profile] priste 2025-08-16 04:52 am (UTC)(link)
Assuming that you find my company tolerable, [ which is what it sure sounds like, coming from Holland!! ] it should be.

[ He looks over at a clock on the wall, trying to decide how much longer he has to hold out. He almost thinks its a pity men don't have dance cards, too, so that he'd know exactly how many more of these insufferable dances he has to live through. ]

Maybe if I commit myself to one more dance no one will miss me.
voxt: (05)

[personal profile] voxt 2025-08-16 05:04 am (UTC)(link)
Hm.

[ Holland won't say one way or the other, but anything short of an immediate denial is as good as confirmation coming from him. He turns his gaze back to the people reveling and dancing, watching them all with an unmistakable air of disdain.

An air that is slightly less thick when his green-eyed gaze is aimed at Kell. He raises an eyebrow.
]

Are you asking for a dance, Kell Maresh?

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