- Invitation Status
- Looking for partners
- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per day
- Multiple posts per week
- Online Availability
- It varies wildly.
- Writing Levels
- Advanced
- Prestige
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Nonbinary
- Primarily Prefer Female
- Genres
- I'm open to a wide range of genres. Obscenely wide. It's harder for me to list all I do like than all I don't like.
My favorite settings are fantasy combined with something else, multiverse, post-apoc, historical (mixed with something else), and futuristic. I'm not limited to those, but it's a good start.
My favorite genres include mystery, adventure, action, drama, tragedy (must be mixed with something else and kept balanced), romance (again must be mixed, and more.
I'm happy to include elements of slice-of-life and romance, but doing them on their own doesn't hold my interest indefinitely.
High altitudes stole her breath from her. How she arrived in this place, she wasn't sure, but she lacked the strength to rise from alongside the river-like green gem road. She'd not seen anyone pass this way in some time, and began to accept that, if they did, it might be too late for her.
Hunger gnawed her insides, nearly driving away all other thoughts, even as her nose bled, sluggish, from one nostril.
Laying on her side, the strains of her previous travel throbbed in muscle and bone and too-tight skin.
She laid there, unsure how long, in a pool of her own long, black hair, as she closed small and slanted eyes, unsure if she would open them again.
Any who stumbled across her would discover a woman with a body twisted and scarred, and so severely malnourished she should not have been breathing, and yet the weak ripple across the blood from her nose remained—a sign of continued life in the near-corpse.
She wore jeans and a cotton tank top, both of them worn and stained. Her flat slip-on shoes, formerly like ballet slippers, had become mud-encased and threadbare. The only part of her outfit that look intact anymore was the unstained and sturdy leather duster, with an abundance of pockets.
The woman opened her eyes and summoned up her energy.
"Need... food...!" It was barely a whisper from the tiny woman, but it was the best she could do as her eyes slid shut again.
Hunger gnawed her insides, nearly driving away all other thoughts, even as her nose bled, sluggish, from one nostril.
Laying on her side, the strains of her previous travel throbbed in muscle and bone and too-tight skin.
She laid there, unsure how long, in a pool of her own long, black hair, as she closed small and slanted eyes, unsure if she would open them again.
Any who stumbled across her would discover a woman with a body twisted and scarred, and so severely malnourished she should not have been breathing, and yet the weak ripple across the blood from her nose remained—a sign of continued life in the near-corpse.
She wore jeans and a cotton tank top, both of them worn and stained. Her flat slip-on shoes, formerly like ballet slippers, had become mud-encased and threadbare. The only part of her outfit that look intact anymore was the unstained and sturdy leather duster, with an abundance of pockets.
The woman opened her eyes and summoned up her energy.
"Need... food...!" It was barely a whisper from the tiny woman, but it was the best she could do as her eyes slid shut again.