Hello, everyone! I've been writing and roleplaying online for nearly a decade. My preferred genre is Fantasy of one sort or another, but I also enjoy Sci-fi on occasion. I prefer quality over quantity; I post three or four paragraphs (at least) once a week, sometimes more, and I put a lot of time and effort into my posts. Please be 21+; it just feels odd to RP with people that are too much younger than me, sorry. I write exclusively in the third person, past tense, limited perspective, and need my partner to do the same. Romance (MxM) is an option but it's by no means required. It would be nice to find some peeps within the community with similar RP styles and interests. I also love to draw and have created a great deal of concept art to be used in our adventures. I'll post some of my artwork and a sample of my writing.
A number of plots and settings have been brewing in the back of my mind for some time:
Hope to hear from some of you!
A number of plots and settings have been brewing in the back of my mind for some time:
The plot would take place after the events of the original 3 seasons. Sir Malcolm Murray has recruited a team of experts to accompany him on an expedition to the Caribbean. A woman claiming to be his daughter has requested his help. Her infant son has been captured by a band of slavers with ties to the occult. I would play a male psychic (the reincarnation of the Celtic god Cernunnos) who is escaping the woman who murdered his coven.
This RP would take place in a fantasy universe and draw heavily upon Irish mythology and folklore. Our characters would play a circle of fey who reside within the deep forests. The Fey are roughly 4 feet tall with pale brown skin, have pointed ears, green lips, and golden eyes that resemble a cat's. I would play a "Bone-charmer", a fairy with the ability to reanimate minions from dead flesh. Bone-charmers spend long periods of time traversing the Ghost Weave in a sort of astral trance. Doing so rejuvenates the land and protects the circle against invasion by the Fomorians, a race of powerful demons that live within the depths of the ocean. The circle is protected by an order of elite warriors who are sworn to hunt down Bonecharmers who have become corrupted. A few Bonecharmers have betrayed the circle, granting a powerful, Fomorian sea dragon passage to the surface in exchange for malevolent powers. The Bonecharmers have been awakened and the sentinels rallied as the Fey prepare for war.
An RP drawing heavily upon the aesthetic of the Diablo video game franchise. This RP would take place not on Sanctuary but on earth, in the early 1400s to be precise, and would draw upon real-world mythology. This plot is a bit less fleshed out but would revolve around an ancient feud between two demons. I would play a psychic (yes, I love sorcerers, psychics, and such) who's been studying a bizarre stone that plummeted to the earth no more than a mile from his hearth. He's determined the stone to be the prison of a dangerous entity and has hired a band of adventures to help him escort the stone to a shrine where he will destroy it.
This would be an RP set many years in the future. A legion of the titanic, mountain-sized creatures have arisen from the ocean and terrified the earth. In this distant future, certain individuals, known as mutants, have evolved powerful genetic abilities such as improved strength or agility, pryokinesis, or weather manipulation. 100 years have passed since the emergence of these monstrosities, and humanity has proven a poor match. Recently, an intelligence unit has discovered a possible weak spot in these creatures' impenetrable armor. An elite task force of soldiers and combat mutants have been assembled to launch an attack on a creature known as "The Mortis".
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 harmless and decomposed, was once the most dangerous thief in Vogos. Nothing remained of him 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 for all to see.
"Anala...Sabtain...Mithrakas…'' Each syllable echoed on the cold wind. An earthy aroma filled the Morcant's nostrils, 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 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 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…"
"Anala...Sabtain...Mithrakas…'' Each syllable echoed on the cold wind. An earthy aroma filled the Morcant's nostrils, 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 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 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…"
Hope to hear from some of you!
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