FxA Seeking fellow writers.

Spooder Queen

Spooder Queen
Original poster
FOLKLORE MEMBER
Invitation Status
  1. Look for groups
  2. Looking for partners
Posting Speed
  1. 1-3 posts per day
  2. One post per day
  3. Multiple posts per week
  4. 1-3 posts per week
Writing Levels
  1. Advanced
Preferred Character Gender
  1. Female
  2. Nonbinary
Genres
Fantasy, High fantasy
Hello, my friends call me Matsu. I've been Roleplaying for over two decades while keeping a universe alive and sharing it with others since 1999. I'm a female and prefer long-term stories but am not opposed to short-term. I believe strongly in character-driven plots. And unlike most, I feel the only way to build a narrative that we both can enjoy, contribute to and grow off of requires our OCs to be chosen first. Concerning my "literacy," I tend to put out 4-17 paragraphs depending on my partners. I in no way expect anyone to match as Roleplay is not a competition but collaborative. I can provide a sample upon request if desired.

Lastly, below is a link to my character sheets. If you're interested, feel free to click the buttons to navigate and peruse. I don't expect you to read them, but the philosophy is a quick way to cull the critical facets of their person.


The Registry | Whitesand Empire(I drew the art.)

I look forward to hearing from you.

PS- I don't require your sheets to be in any single format or have some arbitrary length. This is simply my style, and the characters here are developed. Ranging from 17-10 years of play. if you find errors or have critiques Dm them my way. English isn't my first language, and criticism is how we improve. My favorites to play would be Valerna, Florentina, Samara, and Tahira.
 
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Sample post (A reply to an rp I am in.)









The jezebel's eyes tapered as she witnessed her son's mulling. Had her sermons gone unnoticed? Could it be he found one outside their race meriting such an encomium to be an effrontery? The title of Son and Daughter was not founded on genealogy but one's contributions. And few had suffered as much for their illustrious regime then that mer. Luckily for Ambroise, Samara would stow away such opinions, given she lacked firm enough ground to cast a reprimand. And being an astute lady, she wasn't one to chide off assumptions alone.

All such apprehension dissolved as the heifer went off to concur. Within his juvenile eyes was the pulsation of wisdom, edification that he had presumably been gleaned from his maternal figure. However, all such gesticulations of merriment wouldn't subsist for long. The sad realization of her query appeared to weigh heavily on the young chap. For the first time in his life, the heft of responsibility was placed on his bony shoulders. Soon he would come to terms with this nettlesome sensation. Nonetheless, for now, Ambroise would need to tread carefully.

Samara understood the aspiration to disperse empathy. It wouldn't take long for her chosen offspring to disappoint her. Nevertheless, one's need to appear virtuous can inflict great harm if misplaced. This disapproval wasn't concealed. No, she wanted the young man to behold it in all its connotations. Whether Ambroise was aware of it or not, he was being studied. She needed to translate his strengths and weaknesses and learn how to manipulate both best to bolster their house. A task, while critical, wasn't without a calculative risk.

While the boy writhed, the stony queen would stride back and forth. This movement likely intensified the palpable sense of dread. The once jovial atmosphere dispersed and encountered itself usurped by a hostile sensation. That aggressive aura was by design, a mode to further strain the chap and reckon his capabilities. In actuality, Samara wasn't entirely irate with the boy. She anticipated the charlie to behave childishly. Ambroise was a berk, an infant stumbling within a world he couldn't fathom.

Like all babes, he sustained himself on milk. His vision is incapable of glimpsing anything but black and white. But soon, he will fete on meat and observe as red and yellow materialized before his astigmatic peripherals. That repetitive stride continued throughout the totality of the lad's addresses—Samara's hands roosted above her rear perch while that spaded tail twitched with her stride. The act of tapping his fingers across his ribcage conveyed much. Not least of which was that the nincompoop had a pittance of wisdom. And while it was merely a seedling, it might one day blossom into something meritorious of appreciation.

Samara's knife ears hearkened to his final slew of words. That drivel was unremarkable and only additionally accentuated what she had deduced to be true. She'd then desist her steps and peer at the ninnyhammer she had for a son. Ambroise stood within the limelight of those binary sols of gold. The clangor of the metropolis went hushed as even the calls of the distant fowls succumbed to silence. The world beyond the two appeared increasingly distant, further highlighting a sense of isolation. Whether or not this was a tangible effect wasn't evident. But within Samara's mind, it was accurate enough of a descriptor.

A frown plastered itself across Samara's claret face. Meanwhile, she'd fortify her nerves and prepare to deliver a much-needed homily—a droplet of enlightenment that might help that before-mentioned kernel to sprout.

"Where was Claire when we stumbled? Not once, but twice. Where was she when our enemies beset us? Is it not her job to safeguard our people and protect the house's sanctity and interest? What good is a sword if it remains sheathed or absent? Of what value is a member who foregoes their obligations? The list of her transgression is not just limited to this day. No, it is built upon a foundation of delinquency, a pattern that predominantly has remained unchanged. Do you genuinely believe she is frantically wandering these streets and crying for your name? If so, how did she not gather to investigate that fire? Even I saw it from my little perch."

Samara turned to face the boy, stretching her talons as she motioned with them for the lad to come closer.

"Was it not her duty to investigate such a disturbance? You rushed, didn't you? And why was that? I expect it was curiosity intermingled with a desire to assist our people. Ambroise, my son, you have much to learn. Judgment shouldn't be carried out on one blundering alone. A wise ruler takes the entire picture into account. That is what separates us from the common folk. They live moment to moment, a luxury we can't enjoy. We must live for the future and consider a slew of variables. Each whisper, each push in and of itself, can manifest change. And change, while not intrinsically ill, can birth ruination. Absolutism and narrowness are pitfalls that claim countless victims. Chide not, my baby boy bleu, we will train your eyes to better perceive the world not as it wishes to be observed but how it functions."

Confidently, the ruby jezebel would retract the hand and toss her ashen mane back. That once frown dissolved and bent into a smile.

"You have disappointed me. I've entertained your outlook and will extract what I feel may be beneficial. However, no matter how erroneous, one must consider alternate viewpoints. Regardless of their position, everyone has at least a single grain of wisdom to impart. Nevertheless, make no mistake. If you pardon Claire now, her sins of tomorrow will be yours to bear. Such is the price of playing the chivalrous oaf. So, gallivant if you wish, but know that a guillotine is over your head. And at any time, it might snap. Everything you do moving forward will have consequences. It is, as I have said before. "Heavy is the crown." And yet many fools pang for it, oblivious of what such a station entails. Welcome to your new life. And the cost for building a better tomorrow for the nations is simple. Everything..."
 
Florentina Sample Post​





Since their return from that arid cesspool, the diva discovered a wedge had materialized between them. Where there had once been a heated zeal in their relationship now stood a gelid void filled with silence. Throughout this heartbreaking trial, Florentina had turned her focus back to her profession. However, no matter the victory, the hole left in her heart always remained. Her world felt colorless, flavorless, and devoid of purpose. And what made it all the more painful was not knowing what she had done to merit such cruelty?

It was during such a bleak time that Florentina reexamined her value. Could it be she had come off as too strong? Was there something lacking that repulsed her little leech? Nonetheless, no matter the degree of introspection, she'd fail to uncover the root. Alone she'd return to her throne. It was just another room and a constant reminder of the delight she once tasted. This acrimony brought out the worst of her character. She took this resentment out on those unfortunate to be denoted as enemies of the state.

Florentina no longer derived satisfaction from their lamentations or confessions. Melancholy had become her new lover, and its gravity proved overwhelming. And her entire existence had become routine. She was akin to a husk—an apparition condemned to meander through the world. Whenever alone, she'd sulk in that depressive stupor. However, when out and about, she'd put up a facade to camouflage her despair.

That cycle of dread continued undeterred by the plethora of accolades her mother endowed her with. But there was one thing that dulled the pang of her putrefied heart, which was the honing of her muscles. She was a fool to have allowed her heart to govern her actions. Power was the one actual currency of the world. The absolute truth that no soul could refute. And nothing would ever stifle her aspirations again.

One day, while working out within the wetlands, a familiar sight squirmed toward her. The diva of the mire gazed at the blood-sucking worm, only to glimpse that it was latching onto something. Curiosity had gotten the best of Florentina, so the princess caved and decided to snatch the message and read over its contents. Bewilderment befogged the mind, only to be usurped by the panic drumming of her core. Nysoesa was requesting an audience? Why? Was this some sort of trick?

Initially, the giantess considered ignoring such a beseechment. However, after some deliberation, she'd conclude it was best to investigate. If nothing else, she might procure closure. And with her mind set on the matter, the operative was off.

The trek across the bog had been uneventful. Yet, the atomic blonde may have indulged in wrestling an alligator or two along the way to vent frustrations. Having bested the reptilians, she'd lug one over her shoulder as the muscular warrior trodded deeper into the swamp. A thick haze blanketed the body of water while the presence of the duo suns dismissed fears regarding the defiled. The chirping of insects and the crooning of fowls reminded the diva of better days.

Cautiously her legs dragged across the murky pond, her activities sending ripples across an otherwise placid surface. Why did she feel as if she had been here before? It was then the memories of yesteryear flooded her mind. Nysoesa had selected their meeting place, a lair eternally tainted by the juices of their sensuality. Soughing heavily, she'd persist undeterred by that epiphany. Only for the shape of a familiar willow tree to emerge at the edge of the veil of the fog.

The princess's malachite eyes quickly spotted the tendrilled bitch. Those pupils tapered as she recommenced her travels. Silently, she approached, only to lob the 1,000lb gator onto the soil near the parasite. And rather than speak right away, the sweaty and chiseled predator remained hushed. That awkward atmosphere ionized, giving ample time for Nysoesa to stew within its electrical current. Eventually, that split tongue delineated across her oral rims, moisturizing them before the diva spoke.

"You have some nerve to abandon me and request me by name? I've answered your call, but do not begin to presume this gives you power over me. I'm not trapped here with you. You're trapped here with me. So speak quickly."

She commanded, huffing while those hands rested on her broad hips. Unintentionally, Florentina had used an identical string of words she had uttered when they first wrestled within the bowels of the earth. A nuanced indication that she often thought of that noodly bitch whenever alone.
 
Hello!

I was perusing your catalogue of OCs, and I am intrigued by them as well as your writing style. I appreciate the elaborate detail you put into your characters, and I'm wondering if you're still looking for a writing partner? If so, what would you like to see in terms of any of my original characters? I have one in mind that could be more moldable to any of your original characters. Let me know!
 
Hello!

I was perusing your catalogue of OCs, and I am intrigued by them as well as your writing style. I appreciate the elaborate detail you put into your characters, and I'm wondering if you're still looking for a writing partner? If so, what would you like to see in terms of any of my original characters? I have one in mind that could be more moldable to any of your original characters. Let me know!
Contacted you via message.