Obsidianserpent
Senior Member
Hello, everyone. The search for a partner continues. I wish I understood why it was so difficult to find an experienced, committed partner who doesn't vanish unexpectedly; alas, here I am. I've been RPing for a long time and I take it seriously. I'm looking for a partner with similar priorities. Here's what I'm looking for in a partner:
Below is a sample of my writing:
I'm also a concept concept artist, and if I could find a committed partner, I'd be willing to illustrate our adventures. Below are some samples of my work:
If you're interested, please PM me. If you're new to the site, with no writing for me to read, please send me a sample of your writing with your PM.
I hope to hear from some of you
.
- Age: I am an adult; I'm looking to RP with an adult (ideally 21+).
- Length and Frequency: Writes a minimum of three paragraphs per post. I think it's difficult to really flesh out a plot with anything less than this. With that said, I don't expect my partner to post more than once a week (I'm okay with my partner taking longer than this, so long as this is communicated). I STRONGLY prefer quality over quantity.
- Literacy: I do my best to pay attention to spelling and grammar: this includes avoiding run-on sentences and so forth. While I don't expect perfection (nor claim to embody such a thing myself), I am looking for a literate and experienced RPer.
- Planning: I much prefer to design a setting and plot with my partner, as opposed to doing it completely alone. I want to create worlds with a partner that we can RP in more than once: worlds that are rich in culture, history, mythology etc.. Not only does this take work, it's much more enjoyable when both parties are involved. Finally, I like my RPs to have a planned and succinct end.
- Communication: We all lose interest in RPs eventually; I don't resent my partners for this since I've been there myself. What I would like is for them to communicate to me how they're feeling so that we can pause or end the story on a reasonable note (as opposed to in the middle of a battle or fast paced event, for example).
- Gender and Romance: I know this is a big turn off for many of you, but I'm not specifically looking for a partner to write scintillating romances with. I'm not necessarily opposed to MxM romance; If it happens organically, great, but I have a hard time forcing such a thing, and my priority is producing quality writing with interesting settings, characters, and plots (which tend to be relatively fast paced and action packed). As such, I do not have any preference regarding my partner’s character's gender.
Sorcerer X Hired Mercenary
Sorcerer X Sorcerer
Sorcerer X Werewolf/Vampire
Shaman X Samurai
Monk X Samurai
Monk X Warrior
Monk X Monk
Ninja X Samurai
Ninja X Ninja
Assassin X Assassin
Sorcerer X Sailor/Pirate
Psion X Sailor/Pirate
Psion X Soldier
Psion X Psion
Animal Shapeshifter X Animal Shapeshifter
Tribes-person X Tribes-person
Sorcerer X Sorcerer
Sorcerer X Werewolf/Vampire
Shaman X Samurai
Monk X Samurai
Monk X Warrior
Monk X Monk
Ninja X Samurai
Ninja X Ninja
Assassin X Assassin
Sorcerer X Sailor/Pirate
Psion X Sailor/Pirate
Psion X Soldier
Psion X Psion
Animal Shapeshifter X Animal Shapeshifter
Tribes-person X Tribes-person
Diablo
Grim Dawn
Princess Mononoke
Penny Dreadful
Castlevania
Star Wars
Forgotten Realms/D&D
Pillars of Eternity
Final Fantasy X
Grim Dawn
Princess Mononoke
Penny Dreadful
Castlevania
Star Wars
Forgotten Realms/D&D
Pillars of Eternity
Final Fantasy X
Below is a sample of my writing:
Morcant knelt beside the corpse and gathered a minute piece of talc from his rucksack. Ancient spells ushered from his lips as he carefully drew a circle around the body. It was strange to him that this rotting slab before him was once a member of the most feared thieves guild in Vogos. Decades of scheming, murdering, and hiding from the civilized world, and this is what the rogue had to show for it. He recalled Judoc's words. Death, time; these were the only true lords of heaven and earth, and it was through their power that the vanity of man's petty pursuits was laid bare for all to see.
“Anala...Sabtain...Mithrakas…”Each syllable echoed on the cold wind. A distinctively earthy aroma filled the air, like that of a fertile forest just 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 was growing thinner with each word the skinwalker 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. 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 which 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…” The surrounding greenery was sapped of its vitality and form, leaving behind a ring of withered husks. From the Ghost Land energy continued to flood into the corporeal world unabated, creating a subtle humming on the air. Morcant extended his hands deep into the corpse’s hollow chest, and tore what little remained of the heart from the side of its rib-cage. Maggots which had burrowed 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 which began at the base of his spine and spread throughout the length of his torso like a surge of electricity. Clad in scanty sienna gowns, three beautiful women with locks of auburn danced around the vacant 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. Their coarse and raspy tones of their voices resembled not those of fair maidens but demons; a tritonal, guttural retching which Morcant would not 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 devious smile upon her lips. She arched her spine, pressed herself against him and purred quietly as a placated feline. Her teeth were sharp as arrowheads and the smell of rancid meat was heavy upon her breath.
“Do you hunger child?” the woman whispered gently into his ear. Her words devolved into a maniacal cackle as she forced her fingers between his clenched lips. The taste of tar and vinegar was overpowering. His mouth began to swelter, as though he were cradling a smoldering coal upon the rear of his tongue. The sensation spread to the lining of his throat: a dry, torrid tingle which 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. A distinctively earthy aroma filled the air, like that of a fertile forest just 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 was growing thinner with each word the skinwalker 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. 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 which 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…” The surrounding greenery was sapped of its vitality and form, leaving behind a ring of withered husks. From the Ghost Land energy continued to flood into the corporeal world unabated, creating a subtle humming on the air. Morcant extended his hands deep into the corpse’s hollow chest, and tore what little remained of the heart from the side of its rib-cage. Maggots which had burrowed 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 which began at the base of his spine and spread throughout the length of his torso like a surge of electricity. Clad in scanty sienna gowns, three beautiful women with locks of auburn danced around the vacant 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. Their coarse and raspy tones of their voices resembled not those of fair maidens but demons; a tritonal, guttural retching which Morcant would not 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 devious smile upon her lips. She arched her spine, pressed herself against him and purred quietly as a placated feline. Her teeth were sharp as arrowheads and the smell of rancid meat was heavy upon her breath.
“Do you hunger child?” the woman whispered gently into his ear. Her words devolved into a maniacal cackle as she forced her fingers between his clenched lips. The taste of tar and vinegar was overpowering. His mouth began to swelter, as though he were cradling a smoldering coal upon the rear of his tongue. The sensation spread to the lining of his throat: a dry, torrid tingle which 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!”
I'm also a concept concept artist, and if I could find a committed partner, I'd be willing to illustrate our adventures. Below are some samples of my work:
If you're interested, please PM me. If you're new to the site, with no writing for me to read, please send me a sample of your writing with your PM.
I hope to hear from some of you
.
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