Fantasy OC Fantasy/Magic/Angst [MxF]

very lengthy details of gore (I'm good with it generally, just not 5 paragraphs of it lmao). Bad things involving kids (unless it needs mention for lore or your char’s backstory). Nerves and cut veins. Dislocated joints is my latest (thanks, sybil).

X has a violent past and is currently struggling with some sort of ptsd or other trauma response.
Y is just starting an unaliving rampage for vengeance. (maybe their deceased family member whispered in their ear to do it?)
They meet, and Y is about to do the slashing or the hacking (maybe they're from opposing factions?) but X offers to be their companion instead for information, and boom we have problems. X struggles through their trauma? Convinces Y to lay down their weapon (but then how will the ghost on my shoulder ever shut up)? Maybe the revelation is that X actually caused Y's intense drive for vengeance due to what they did in the past? Who knows.

Give me a praised knight, or an outcasted one. Give me a noble with a strange knack for lethal weaponry. Give me a deserted world where royalty means nothing anymore, or perhaps it does, but everyone's out to get them. Give me a typical damsel in distress scenario in the deep woods. A group of people being laced together to fight an opposing threat. Sisterhood, brotherhood. GIMMEHHH.

Two opposing factions. One very sudden war. And one real threat looming in the shadows.
Most people are mind controlled. The mages are not. She finds him on the verge of death, but the words that spill from his weakened throat are not threats. They are warnings.
She too has suspected something strange lately, but hasn’t been able to put a finger on it. The attacks were so sudden, so strange, and yet, it’s like nobody questioned where it came from.
He tells her that they thought her clan was the attacker.
Magic is rare, and most mages are easy targets to wicked intentions, so they hide. A and B are willing combatants in the raging war, but they aren’t there to mercilessly kill. They end up in a duel, both believing the other is just another mindless attacker. Surprisingly durable both of them, but as B falls, they take their shot at expressing their worry. Dazed by the words, A tries to save them.
I'm not OPPOSED to switching "faction roles" here, I just naturally gravitated towards the one that wasn't gravely injured.

They’re pitted against each other in the deathly fighting ring. But the horn always blows before they get a chance to kill each other. Being stuck in an endless loop of being brought to the brink of death just as they've recuperated, is bound to bring some conspiracy, and perhaps, revolt.

Minzie - Paranoia ”is this the price i have to pay to get you out my life? there aint no drug i wouldn’t take to get you off my mind”
Azee - Anomaly ”need a new high”

Songs that make me feel some typea way but I can't create a story that would make sense. Which is why I'm just throwing it out there!

A is the reason B is there. A did it for a reason, one that they cannot outwardly admit. B escapes and hunts A down to reap their revenge. An agreement is made to keep both their lives intact.

Every flick of finger, every whisper to the shadows brought her closer to perfection. She ached in the process, reveled in the progress, and stretched the lines the kingdom had set out for her. It was a secret delight that only she and her robed companions seemed to understand. Learn more, cause more, and you’ll bend the world to your will.

She didn’t want to inherit a throne; ruling wasn’t a fleeting item to pass down between people like an object. Ruling was a game. Her siblings didn’t play,they bent to the rules that held them in place. They were just fine tending to their petty nature songs that made rosebush rise out of snow.

She laughed at them. Even as they cast her out, stripped her of the robe she’d worn by right, and threw her out in the cold, she laughed. What was there to gain between walls that refused to expand?

So she walked. Shivering under the snowfall that doused her clothes, coughing in the air that dried her throat, each of her steps only fueled the fire surging through her veins. She settled in a village across the mountains and built her reputation by certain favors. There was a new kingdom on the rise, they said.

To go against your own, to eliminate the blood that forged you. At what point does it become a crime? There was no sigil on her chest. No gilded robes to flash and open up the path before her. The more she walked, the less an old legacy weighed on her mind. Mere particles in the desert. Particles she’d incinerate with the perfect flame the next time she had the chance.

An old 2017 blurb:
X parties, makes noise - everything to escape the crippling agony.
Z stays at home, blinds drawn, in constant pain from their own actions.
On their way to possibly do something stupid, Z stumbles upon the club - of course the very place that X tends to go. Z considers taking at least one last drink.
X, now meeting with a new face, takes action under the neon lights, and after a chunk load of alcohol, it follows them back to the gloomy apartment Z had earlier planned to leave for good.
The morning after comes with terrifying revelations, as X finds the marks of Z's destructive behavior. X, shocked, yet still not clear in their head, convinces the other to start partying together.
And how could this possibly turn out okay?

Essentially it's a story of two people who have each fallen into their own destructive way of dealing with pain. Would involve alcohol abuse, possibly substances as well.

Deep within the forest - or perhaps hidden in plain sight? - a cult thrives to rescurrect a dead god (God A) through elven sacrifices.
X (initially practicing god B's - A's counterpart - teachings) is a member of this cult, but only driven by disrupting visions that led them there.
Z is also a believer and practitioner of God B, and upon gaining knowledge of the cult, strives to dismantle it from within.

This one is an RP that was planned but never executed. I was originally gonna play X and created somewhat of a history around her.
Listen listen, I have a whole ass heap of details around this story, including the stages of the cult, and if you're interested I'll love to lay it on ya! (the almost-partner is ok with this)

Alenya hopped off the horse the moment she noticed the black figures easing around them. Her heels hit the ground just as an arrow whooshed past her.

Bandits. But not the typical kind, no, these were thirsty for something else.

She ducked for the incoming arrows , cursing under her breath as she fumbled for the keys. It was to no avail - a face covered figure emerged beyond the wooden carriage and shrieked at her with his rapier drawn. He thrusted it towards her, but Alenya was faster. Unsheathing her scimitars she lunged at knee height, circled around the bandit and curved a dark streak over his throat. He slumped to the ground.

Her next immediate problem was the one with the circular blades. Throw those and you get a whole slew of scattered elf meat laying on the ground. He saw his friend turn to a black pool and immediately decided not to get too close.

The archer was flinging arrows at her as if he had an endless amount of them. He briefly paused when he noticed Alenya dead set on his companion. The disgusting sound of his huffing drew a thin line on her face. He neared the carriage, utterly impressed by the loot he was about to find.

“What do we have here?” he moaned towards the human. “A fine prize to bring back to the Carres, might be.”

“Shut up and do what we came here for!” The dual-wielder called as the gap between him and the elf was closing. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears as she lifted her blades to shoulder-level and looked for an opening. In her delight, the man charged first. His blades cut through the air with impressive speed, clashing with hers in a wild dance of death. He enjoyed it when she gasped - perhaps a bit too much.

Stupid, stupid men.

Alenya hopped to the side, straightening her arms. She twirled around the circular blade that’d just swung at her. With her right hand, she jabbed at his left arm, unbalancing him. With her left, she slit his throat.

Unfortunately for her, their little dance had taken enough time for the archer to ready his next shot. Alenya had just whipped her head back up and started sprinting when an arrow took her abdomen. “Ugh-” She fell to the soil.

“Macabre!” the archer sang. Alenya writhed on her side. The arrow had flown straight through her torso. The bandit circled around the carriage and neared her. His heavy steps shook the ground and dug into her already screaming wound.

“Elves are my favorite,” he purred as he crouched by her to grab a fistful of her tangled hair. “Best we-”

He fell silent. When he tipped over backwards, a small boot knife could be seen sticking out under his ear.

Alenya cried out as she moved. She crawled almost like a snake over the bumpy soil. The arrow had drawn blood, creating a light trail after her. Her vision blurred with the speed her head spun.

“Here…” Her voice was low, but enough so that the human could hear. “If you get to the tavern, tell… Tell the owner that Alenya wanted him to go to hell.”

An enveloping glare of light diminished with the rest of her functioning thoughts. As if she was born anew, her pupils grew large to take in the whites around her. No, the reds.

No, the—what have I done?

The snow white swell of Mandriel’s hair slipped through her fingers. Their sensitive ends were dabbed with blood.

Again. She’d done it again. This time, it was final. Full circle.

Air caught in her throat as she observed her latest piece of work. Her dead sister. The one she’d sworn to find, to protect; now a slumped mass over her knees, impaled by her own weapons. Tendriel blinked, hoping it would all disappear, but to no avail.

You knew it was going to happen. Did you even try to avoid it?

Well did she? The first time she saw her back in those charred ruins, she’d offered up her blade; she’d faced it head on. She’d been ready to die then, as long as it meant she got to be close to her one last time. And she’d sent her own crescent blades through herself instead of letting Ten succumb to her bout of depression. It all seemed like some prank.

No. You’re the only joke here.

A cold wind pushed Mandriel’s hairstrands over her forehead. Under her white lashes, a tiny speck of red shone through. As if her cold and dead eyes spoke. Wishful thinking, maybe. All Tendriel’s life had been wishful thinking. A series of decisions glinted with the doom she should’ve already expected. A ceaseless chase for a dream—one that she could never enter. She clung onto it. She really did.

What’s it going to be?

Her rapier slept, unscathed in its sheathe. She hadn’t touched it. She’d only stared. Prayed that it’d be different. Wished it hadn’t come to this.

Had it been mercy to force the blades to twist like that? To cross her naked fingers, flick her hand around and watch Mandriel’s leaping arms bend in? Did she gain anything from being alive to see the aftermath of the bloodshed she'd caused at breath's distance?

Was it fair? All they both wanted was to be together.

Open your palms. Join her. Join them.

Yag’s voice rang sharp in her ears, digging into her head much like the blades before her. A mockery she couldn’t blame him for. Her right hand slipped off her sister’s blood-soaked wraps, scouring for the sleeping rapier. She could make it easy. Eye-socket or throat? Which one fit her crime more? Death wouldn’t come fast, but at least then, she could linger in her regrets while she awaited it. Writhe on the perfectly polished floor—get what you deserve—slip out of the world knowing that she has finally accepted the only way out from her endless devastation. Enter the void in which she could never hurt anybody again.

Her heart thundered in her chest as she grasped the blade, its fine steel whispering as it slid out of the sheathe. But every breath slowed her down, every new imagery before her unfolded in vivid colour, and every memory with Mandriel suddenly surged through her veins like piping hot water.

Memories are only memories until you die, then they are nothing.

“No.” She lifted her cold, tear-soaked chin. “You did.”

The blue in her eyes reflected only the icy hatred she held for him.

Even in your prime, she still bit off your strings. She stood up against you this entire time. She fought until the very end.

Tendriel grabbed her weapon by the blade, wandered up its sharp edges with her hand, letting it slice her skin in the process. The rippled hand cried out, its skin long burned with ice, but her features remained unflinching. The handle pointed towards Yag, and the blade towards herself. The fingers in her left hand still mingled with her sister’s hair, so naturally, so seamlessly...she could flick them.

“But she defeated you first.”

The rapier sprang to life. It spun through the air within a blink. Mandriel’s strands fluttered. With the tip aimed directly at Yag’s heart, the blade shot forth.