Obsidianserpent
Senior Member
Hello! Thank you for taking the time to check out this thread. So, the never-ending search for a partner continues. A few expectations to get out of the way:
*I've been writing stories and roleplaying online for many years. My preferred genre is Fantasy of one sort or another, but I also enjoy Sci-fi on occasion. In any case, I enjoy relatively fast-paced, action-oriented RPs.
*I am NOT interested in romance: I realize this makes me somewhat of an outlier in the RP community, but it would be nice to find a writing partner with similar priorities. For this reason I don't care whatsoever what gender my partner plays.
*I prefer quality over quantity and typically post about once or twice a week. Posts should be detailed, well thought out, and contain anywhere from 2-5+ paragraphs depending on the narrative situation. I don’t expect perfection (I’ll make mistakes too), but players should be well-versed in the English language, use proper spelling/grammar, and write in the past tense from the third-person limited perspective.
*I dislike when RPs drone on indefinitely, encouraging players to ghost their partners. I like RPs that are relatively short (like a "one-shot") with a planned beginning and end.
*I LOVE to world-build with my partner. I want to create adventures and worlds we can both feel invested in.
*Please don't mary-sue; our characters should possess flaws and sustain some significant injury during each violent conflict with a powerful foe.
*Please be 21+; it just feels odd to RP with people who are over a decade younger than I am; sorry.
*I am NOT interested in romance: I realize this makes me somewhat of an outlier in the RP community, but it would be nice to find a writing partner with similar priorities. For this reason I don't care whatsoever what gender my partner plays.
*I prefer quality over quantity and typically post about once or twice a week. Posts should be detailed, well thought out, and contain anywhere from 2-5+ paragraphs depending on the narrative situation. I don’t expect perfection (I’ll make mistakes too), but players should be well-versed in the English language, use proper spelling/grammar, and write in the past tense from the third-person limited perspective.
*I dislike when RPs drone on indefinitely, encouraging players to ghost their partners. I like RPs that are relatively short (like a "one-shot") with a planned beginning and end.
*I LOVE to world-build with my partner. I want to create adventures and worlds we can both feel invested in.
*Please don't mary-sue; our characters should possess flaws and sustain some significant injury during each violent conflict with a powerful foe.
*Please be 21+; it just feels odd to RP with people who are over a decade younger than I am; sorry.
With expectations out of the way, let's take a look at some original plots, pairings, and settings!
Voyaging Witches
Plot: A great oracle from an ancient witch hive speaks of unrest in the beyond; a cosmic vendetta now threatens to consume the mortal world in its wake. Regrettably, something obscures the oracle's sight, preventing her from discerning the nature of this threat and the powers involved. To aid in the oracle's divinations, the Archmagus has assembled a team of witches and mercenaries to aid him in retrieving a rare and magical mushroom. As they near their destination, the party’s ship is attacked by an otherworldly creature intent on thwarting their course.
Pairings: I would play a psychic/witch from this coven. My partner could play a fellow witch or a mercenary the coven has hired. I’m open to other suggestions as well.
Settings: I'd prefer this take place in the Middle East during the late middle ages. There were a lot of very interesting world events taking place during this period that could make for some cool historical fantasy (war between Vlad Dracula and the Ottoman empire, conflict over Mecca and Jerusalem, etc). Alternatively, this could take place in Great Britain during the War of the Roses, in Hungary during the reign of Elizabeth Bathory, in the American colonies during the Salem Witch Trails, or in the Caribbean during the “Golden Age” of pirates (mid-1600s). I’d like this RP to have a macabre, light-magic tone.
Necromantic Guardians
Plot: A powerful and spiteful necromancer has betrayed the brothers and sisters of his small order, selling his soul to a maleficent power in exchange for the powers of lichdom. This treacherous sorcerer has fractured the order's most cherished artifact, stealing a fragment and using its power to conjure an otherworldly army under his command. He now launches an assault on the order's remote sanctuary, seeking to confiscate what remains of the artifact and summon his dark master to the mortal world.
Pairings: I would play as one of the necromancers defending the sanctuary from the lich's attack. My partner could be either a fellow necromancer of the order or a "Sentinel". The Sentinels were established to one, protect the necromancers from the interference of the outside world, and two, slay them should they fall to corruption. The sentinels not only undergo years of vigorous physical training but participate in a number of mentally and spiritually draining rituals that often involve the consumption of magical potions and powders. These rituals enhance their senses and grant unnatural agility.
Settings: My original thought was that this RP would take place in an original, dark, fairy-centric fantasy world drawing heavily upon Celtic mythology. Our characters would be fey; relatively short, gracile humanoids with beastlike eyes and pointed ears (think the Children of the Forest from Game of Thrones). With that said, this could also take place in medieval Egypt or West Africa.
Infernal Meteorite
Plot: A mysterious meteorite landed several miles from the home of my character, a reclusive psychic and apothecary. Intrigued, my character tracked down the celestial object and studied it intently for many months, eventually discovering that it was the prison of some malevolent force. He also learned of an old ritual and distant shrine capable of banishing the evil object to the void that birthed it. Fearing that this prison may be weakening, he has hired a mercenary company to protect and accompany him on his voyage to the site. Nearing their destination, the company is ambushed by assailants intent on confiscating the stone.
Pairings: As mentioned, I would play the psychic who hired the mercenary company. My thought was that your character could either be the leader of that company or a member of it. Alternatively, your character could be one of the assailants attacking my party. This would set our characters against one another but in my experience, roleplays where our characters are adversaries are actually some of my favorites.
Settings: I would be okay with a number of settings for this plot. It could take place in ancient China during the Warring States period, in feudal Japan during the Sengoku period, or in medieval Saudi Arabia. Alternatively, this could take place in a British Victorian setting, drawing aesthetically from the video game "Bloodborne" or the TV series "Penny Dreadful". As always, I'm open to other suggestions as well.
While I generally prefer original settings and characters, there are a handful of fandoms I would RP as well:
*Penny Dreadful
*Pillars of Eternity
*Elder Scrolls
*Grim Dawn
*Castlevania
*Game of Thrones
*Starcraft
*Jade Empire
*Princess Mononoke
*Pillars of Eternity
*Elder Scrolls
*Grim Dawn
*Castlevania
*Game of Thrones
*Starcraft
*Jade Empire
*Princess Mononoke
Here’s a sample of my writing:
Morcant knelt beside the corpse and collected a piece of talc from his rucksack. Ancient spells ushered from his lips as he drew a circle around the body. It was strange that the rotting slab before him, so impotent and decomposed, was once the most dangerous thief in Vogos. Nothing remained of the man but his legacy of pain. He recalled Judoc's words. Death, time: these were the true gods of heaven and earth, and it was through their power that the vanity of man's pursuits was laid bare.
“Anala...Sabtain...Mithrakas…'' Each syllable echoed on the cold wind. An earthy aroma enveloped the seer, like that of a spring forest, moments before a storm. It was the Anem Cira, or 'soul spark' as it was known in the common tongue. The veil between the Ghost Land and the corporeal world grew thinner with each word he uttered. He pulled a sharpened ceremonial blade, thin and needle-like from a leather sheath upon his ankle and pitched it high above the sternum of the rotting corpse. With all the force he could muster, he drove the blade into the center of its chest, twisting it back and forth until an audible crack relieved the pressure beneath him. A puff of noxious odor spewed from the freshly formed cavity. Morcant’s eyes welled up with tears as he retched. He’d only invoked Albiach Cineadhia on three prior occasions, and never on a corpse so late into decomposition. Under the tutelage of Judoc, he had performed many spells and rituals that required dabbling in the macabre. He’d grown accustomed to writing in the blood of goats, horses, and men, and creating salves and elixirs from the organs of all manner of vermin. But no invocation had thus far required him to work with a specimen so repugnant.
“Vamarus...Danir…” Vitality and form abandoned the surrounding greenery, leaving behind a ring of withered husks. From the Ghost Land energy flooded into the corporeal world unabated, creating a subtle humming in the air. Morcant lowered his hands deep into the corpse’s cavity and tore what little remained of the heart from the side of its ribcage. Maggots buried beneath the fleshy surface wriggled to and fro. He felt a lukewarm mixture of stale water and bodily fluids trickle down his arm and soak his plain linen shirt. Fighting back the impulse to vomit, he gripped the heart firmly in his hand and elevated it into the air. “Sabnatha…”
His eyes turned black as smoke. Blurred images, one after the other flashed before him in his mind’s eye, each accompanied by a prickling pain that began at the base of his spine and rushed throughout the length of his torso like a surge of electricity. Clad in scanty sienna gowns, three women with locks of auburn danced around the post to which he was bound. Their lithe bodies moved in unison as though they were of a single mind. He did not recognize the curious tongue in which they spoke. The coarse and raspy tones of their voices resembled those, not of fair maidens, but demons; a tri-tonal, guttural retching that Morcant wouldn't soon forget. The tallest of the three slowly approached him like a dancer in a city brothel, her hips swaying from side to side and a coy, yet malevolent smile upon her lips. She arched her spine, pressed herself against him, and purred like a placated cat. Her teeth were sharp as arrowheads and her breath smelled of rancid meat.
“Do you hunger, child?” the woman whispered gently into his ear. Her words devolved into a low-pitched cachinnation as she forced her fingers between his lips. A caustic, acrid flavor overwhelmed him. His mouth began to swelter, as though he were cradling a lump of smoldering coal upon the rear of his tongue. The sensation spread to the lining of his throat: a dry, torrid tingle that crept along his trachea and constricted his airways. As he struggled in vain for faded breath, he heard Dyana’s voice in the peripheries of his mind, calling to him with an air of desperation he’d yet to perceive in the ranger’s self-assured voice.
“Morcant...wake up!”
“Anala...Sabtain...Mithrakas…'' Each syllable echoed on the cold wind. An earthy aroma enveloped the seer, like that of a spring forest, moments before a storm. It was the Anem Cira, or 'soul spark' as it was known in the common tongue. The veil between the Ghost Land and the corporeal world grew thinner with each word he uttered. He pulled a sharpened ceremonial blade, thin and needle-like from a leather sheath upon his ankle and pitched it high above the sternum of the rotting corpse. With all the force he could muster, he drove the blade into the center of its chest, twisting it back and forth until an audible crack relieved the pressure beneath him. A puff of noxious odor spewed from the freshly formed cavity. Morcant’s eyes welled up with tears as he retched. He’d only invoked Albiach Cineadhia on three prior occasions, and never on a corpse so late into decomposition. Under the tutelage of Judoc, he had performed many spells and rituals that required dabbling in the macabre. He’d grown accustomed to writing in the blood of goats, horses, and men, and creating salves and elixirs from the organs of all manner of vermin. But no invocation had thus far required him to work with a specimen so repugnant.
“Vamarus...Danir…” Vitality and form abandoned the surrounding greenery, leaving behind a ring of withered husks. From the Ghost Land energy flooded into the corporeal world unabated, creating a subtle humming in the air. Morcant lowered his hands deep into the corpse’s cavity and tore what little remained of the heart from the side of its ribcage. Maggots buried beneath the fleshy surface wriggled to and fro. He felt a lukewarm mixture of stale water and bodily fluids trickle down his arm and soak his plain linen shirt. Fighting back the impulse to vomit, he gripped the heart firmly in his hand and elevated it into the air. “Sabnatha…”
His eyes turned black as smoke. Blurred images, one after the other flashed before him in his mind’s eye, each accompanied by a prickling pain that began at the base of his spine and rushed throughout the length of his torso like a surge of electricity. Clad in scanty sienna gowns, three women with locks of auburn danced around the post to which he was bound. Their lithe bodies moved in unison as though they were of a single mind. He did not recognize the curious tongue in which they spoke. The coarse and raspy tones of their voices resembled those, not of fair maidens, but demons; a tri-tonal, guttural retching that Morcant wouldn't soon forget. The tallest of the three slowly approached him like a dancer in a city brothel, her hips swaying from side to side and a coy, yet malevolent smile upon her lips. She arched her spine, pressed herself against him, and purred like a placated cat. Her teeth were sharp as arrowheads and her breath smelled of rancid meat.
“Do you hunger, child?” the woman whispered gently into his ear. Her words devolved into a low-pitched cachinnation as she forced her fingers between his lips. A caustic, acrid flavor overwhelmed him. His mouth began to swelter, as though he were cradling a lump of smoldering coal upon the rear of his tongue. The sensation spread to the lining of his throat: a dry, torrid tingle that crept along his trachea and constricted his airways. As he struggled in vain for faded breath, he heard Dyana’s voice in the peripheries of his mind, calling to him with an air of desperation he’d yet to perceive in the ranger’s self-assured voice.
“Morcant...wake up!”
Hope to hear from some of you!
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