- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per week
- One post per week
- Writing Levels
- Give-No-Fucks
- Advanced
- Adaptable
- Genres
- Fantasy, Romance, Medieval, Action, Magic, Sci-fi
Hello!
I'm Lillian Gray, and I'm in search of someone who would like to do a one x one which I have previously set up. I had this story going for all of 5 posts with another member, who sadly had to drop out. That being said, not all of the plot is set in stone, and I'm very willing to negotiate changes if necessary.
The Plot: No one really knows why, or even who, attacked the Wittacre family so brutally those nine years ago. The family was massacred, and the daughters of the royal bloodline were the only two nobles to escape the slaughter. To keep their identities a secret, a neighboring kingdom swears to keep them safe inside their own walls, until they grow of age to reclaim the land of their father. This family, the Roivas line, is a proud line of warriors and generals alike. They have no problem keeping the secret and daughters safe.
The nine years have gone by in a blur.
The eldest son of the Roivas family has returned from his training to become a noble soldier, just as his father had always envisioned. The two daughters of the Wittacre family are eager for his return. The three had been fast friends ever since their coming. The eldest, however, is set to marry into the Roivas line in an attempt to win back their homeland by joining the armies of Roivas and the scattered loyalists to the Wittacre line. The younger is not pleased. She harbors more love for the eldest son, and hopes he too has some passion in his heart to see this.
I've included two sample posts from the previous rp. One, an introductory post for the younger daughter, Ellara. The other, an introductory post for the eldest, Catherine.
Just A Dream, #b84265
A cry pierced the night like a sword against the throat of a mortal man. All manner of beast and human ran scrambling from the innermost heart of the royal palace, but not one made it past the entryway steps. One by one the collaborated screaming trickled to a sole voice among the masses. Soldiers waited with tall pikes in hand, backed by rows of archers ready to take aim. The sounds died out, the hollow ringing of fear left a stain deep against the black canvas of the sky, everything else stained red with the blood of the house Attacre. The cry was there, and all at once silenced by an unnamed hand.
She was running, the handmaiden by the name Maeve cradled a redheaded child in her arms, she being not so old as to see her first days of womanhood. Tears as well as blood streamed down the front of the child's nightclothes. Maeve prayed to every God she knew, starting with those of her country. The Life Giver Daitel, the Life Taker Chale, every other name slipped through her tongue with no great amount of significance. They had nothing to do with the slaughter of innocents, and only life mattered now, so she prayed.
"Hang on my sweet." Maeve cooed the child but only received desperate spouts of gurgled blood from the edges of her lips. Little Ellara Wittacre was dying in her arms and there was nothing she could do to stop the slaughter around them.
"Duncan, get your ass over here, before someone finds us!" Maeve hissed back at a shadow darting just behind her hurried steps. There were four in their party total. One handmaiden, one knight, and two terrified little girls with no imagination left as to what was lurking in the halls of their home.
The man had no reply for the angered handmaiden. He busied himself with another child, older than the first. Her blonde hair was thick with matted blood, her eyes wide in horror, never once did they leave her sister's face. Little Ellara was stunned and bleeding, Catherine could do nothing but watch.
"Miss Maeve, where is Edward?" Catherine asked. "Where is mother, father, why aren't they with us? Who hurt Ellara?"
"Quiet, child, we need to run. No more questions." Duncan, the knight of the group hushed Catherine with a jolt of his hand forward. In his opposite was a great long sword meant for two hands. The one would do, adrenaline left him with great strength. Catherine complained against his grip but didn't ask anything else. The girl was smart enough to figure when to hold her tongue and when to speak, court had taught her that.
Only, this wasn't the court. The Lords and Ladies she was used to speaking with were dead on the steps of the grounds, the lone opposing voice was an arrow in their chest, and it was best Catherine never spoke up unless she wanted to join the popular opinion.
Fire rained down from the sky and set whole rooms ablaze with such ferocity the stone itself began to melt off the high rising spires. This of course, was where the memory and the dream differed. Poor Ellara could barely discern from the truth of the reality and the false memories any longer. In truth, the buildings were never on fire to begin with. There was no mage summoning forth hell to burn their home, only torches to catch to the tapestries around the grounds. Those were more susceptible to the element. Stone didn't burn, wouldn't burn, not unless it was by dragon fire.
Death was at her door, and only wanted to ease the pain with memories which seemed more grand than what lay in ruin around her.
From what Catherine said, as Ellara never remembered, they fled to the main road with nothing more than the very clothes on their backs. For Catherine, it consisted of her pale rose colored nightgown and a pair of mismatched slippers. Her hair was all tousled, but she insisted she'd looked good in her apparel. She feared more for Ellara's safety than what she was wearing, and she always made sure to say so.
The dream only continued in fire until the woods around them were red and distorted. Soldiers screamed after them, wolves sniffed the air to catch a taste of the royal bloodline, eager for the easy kill. None of it was real, the memories weren't there to justify the feeling of pain against her skin. It was burning, hot and cold all at once, the skin at her neck was cut jagged from a would be assassins shot at taking an eight year old girl's life.
He'd failed, to Sir Duncan Kelly's great liking.
Ellara woke with a start. Her hand slapped hard against her neck, only to meet the pink flesh of the botched attempt on her life. Tears started to spring from the corner of her pale blue eyes but good Maeve was there to stifle the familiar cry of pain which she long associated with the nightmare. The handmaiden's soft hands wrapped around the girl's mouth, knowing that a slip of the finger meant waking the entire Northern Wing of nobles. Ellara's shaking shoulders was enough to make her sigh with pity.
Even in disarray she was an image of beauty, no matter how many times she dissented. Her red hair was an uncommon sighting, even among the best bred nobles in the country. She was slender but not for lack of some form to her hips, now that she'd blossomed into a proper young lady. Ellara always compared herself to that of her sister. Tall, blonde, and sociable. They felt like stark opposites despite their relation by blood.
"It has been nine years and yet you still dream." Maeve's accent was slightly reminisce of a Mountain dwelling tribe, her words felt thick, like her tongue didn't have enough room in her own mouth, but it wasn't an unpleasant sound. While cumbersome, it was warm and filled with good intent with each syllable. "Do not weep."
Ellara did her best not to cry, as she did when the nightmare struck. The anniversary was coming closer and the dream only got worse with each passing night. It was the fourth time Maeve had to intervene that very week.
"Your sister is alive, you are alive, that is all that matters." Maeve removed her hand from the teen's mouth and used it instead to brush her fingers against her soft red hair. Ellara leaned heavily into the touch with her hands still grasping around the wound at her throat.
"Would you like some ribbon?" Maeve asked. Ellara's only response was a nod of her head.
It was a silly solution to a long festering problem. Ellara hated to go out in public with anything less than a high collared vestment. She was embarrassed of the mark, even though it represented much more than a close study of death. It stood for, according to Catherine dearest, for survival and a long lasting family lineage. Others called her brave, some thought her a miracle, but Ellara couldn't allow herself to let them see the mark which had almost been the end of her. It brought about too much pain.
Maeve tied a thick black length of silk around Ellara's throat and she felt better somehow. The handmaiden kissed the youth against her temple before standing to leave.
"I will return when you wake, alright?" She cooed. "Do not fear, my Lady Ellara. you have nothing to fear from anyone."
Scars and Liars, #b84265
It wasn't long before the city was in a small uproar over Alexander's return, they'd known for a short month that he would indeed be returning to the city, but that didn't stop the masses from celebrating. Long banners trailed from distant rooftops down in the streets of the town, not stopping even as land turned to sea. Some of the vessels changed their flags to match the house colors of Roivas in the same celebration.
Ellara sat in the tower of her sister's bedroom, gazing out into the crowd and trying to spot the man she'd known as a young girl. Back then, he was just a boy himself, reading stories about knights instead of acting the part. Would he return as brave as the well known Sir Porter of old? A man once said to have saved three Kings from death in battle, and uniting the countries in peace forever. Or would he be cold as Sir Haemon the Brutal, a soldier at heart, and nothing more. His sword was legendary, said to have been able to cut three men down with just the first half swing. She feared to say he had changed too much, and the boy she knew would have been locked away for good.
A scoff caught her in her daydreams, as her older sister approached her from behind. Catherine Wittacre cared not about the stories of old men and their swords. She cared more for the seasoned court of her new home, and finding the company of refined Ladies to be more entertaining than the knights of the realm. To her, all the fighting was so pointless. At least Ellara could agree that blood was best not shed on any battlefield. Catherine held the notion that all problems could be solved through words, and her twisted tongue was quite talented at getting what she wanted.
"So he's returned then?" She turned Ellara's head until her eyes found the one boy she'd been searching for. He'd grown taller, tanner, and she hadn't expected him to change so much in just a few short years, but he had.
"It would seem so." Ellara nodded her head once. Catherine took up her shining red hair to brush it, their presence had been requested with the Queen, and the younger of the two sister's hadn't figured out why. It was still best she look exquisite for Alexander's return. They still had to act the part of cousins, after all, and going to see their recently returned family was best with proper gowns and well combed hair.
The two sisters stood in the window of Catherine's chambers, the eldest all too content in staying quiet while she brushed through the tangles of red at her hands. There was a small, but sure, smile on her face. Like she knew something that no one else did. There was a secret, and she simply had been dying to tell it to someone.
"He's going to marry me." She blurted.
Ellara did the only thing she could, and tried to deflect the painful proclamation with her own words. "No he's not. You're supposed to be his cousin, Betty Thestral, and what would his family gain by marrying a cousin when there are so many other families to tap into?" She wasn't as good at contorting her words as her sister was.
"Because we're not cousins, it will be advantageous." She asserted with a yank of Ellara's hair. The younger grumbled a protest. "Come this afternoon and everyone will know we are certainly not cousins."
"You wouldn't tell them." Ellara grimaced at the thought. She rather liked being stowed away inside the castle. It was easier to imagine their families killer had no idea where they were such with fake identities to go by. They were assumed dead, lost to the tragedies at Great Kaehr, their home and their birthplace.
"I'm not the one who'll be saying anything." Catherine leaned down and whispered into her sister's ear. "But the Queen will be, to everyone in attendance. The Wittacre's are not gone, we are strong, and we will return for what was lost. Our home, don't you want that?"
Ellara said nothing to argue her sister. Her words were laced with venom and hate for the youth, who wanted nothing but to stay put, to hide from the past they had crawled from.
Catherine pulled away the ribbon around Ellara's neck, and she did nothing to stop her as she wrapped one pale and slender hand around the scar. There was an anger in the way she took hold of her sister's neck, but a gentle touch at the edges of pink, raw flesh. She wouldn't dare hurt her sister, but reminding her of the tragedy was a favorite pastime of hers.
"Don't you want to know who did this to you, to us?"
"Yes, sister." Ellara murmured. The hands slipped away and she could hear the click clack of her shoes as they paced away from her, and out the door. It slammed shut behind her and she could hear the same steps echo down the long hall. Ellara wiped at the tears which had rolled down her face.
It was all a lie. She wanted nothing more than to never know who had destroyed her life.
I have my main character, Ellara, created, as well as a handmaiden, the eldest sister, and two loyal Wittacre guards. I love to use banners and codes, and would be more than happy to help whoever is interested in making some themselves.
Please, PM me if you're interested! I am looking for someone who is serious, as I've grown rather attached to this particular plot.
I'm Lillian Gray, and I'm in search of someone who would like to do a one x one which I have previously set up. I had this story going for all of 5 posts with another member, who sadly had to drop out. That being said, not all of the plot is set in stone, and I'm very willing to negotiate changes if necessary.
The Plot: No one really knows why, or even who, attacked the Wittacre family so brutally those nine years ago. The family was massacred, and the daughters of the royal bloodline were the only two nobles to escape the slaughter. To keep their identities a secret, a neighboring kingdom swears to keep them safe inside their own walls, until they grow of age to reclaim the land of their father. This family, the Roivas line, is a proud line of warriors and generals alike. They have no problem keeping the secret and daughters safe.
The nine years have gone by in a blur.
The eldest son of the Roivas family has returned from his training to become a noble soldier, just as his father had always envisioned. The two daughters of the Wittacre family are eager for his return. The three had been fast friends ever since their coming. The eldest, however, is set to marry into the Roivas line in an attempt to win back their homeland by joining the armies of Roivas and the scattered loyalists to the Wittacre line. The younger is not pleased. She harbors more love for the eldest son, and hopes he too has some passion in his heart to see this.
I've included two sample posts from the previous rp. One, an introductory post for the younger daughter, Ellara. The other, an introductory post for the eldest, Catherine.
A cry pierced the night like a sword against the throat of a mortal man. All manner of beast and human ran scrambling from the innermost heart of the royal palace, but not one made it past the entryway steps. One by one the collaborated screaming trickled to a sole voice among the masses. Soldiers waited with tall pikes in hand, backed by rows of archers ready to take aim. The sounds died out, the hollow ringing of fear left a stain deep against the black canvas of the sky, everything else stained red with the blood of the house Attacre. The cry was there, and all at once silenced by an unnamed hand.She was running, the handmaiden by the name Maeve cradled a redheaded child in her arms, she being not so old as to see her first days of womanhood. Tears as well as blood streamed down the front of the child's nightclothes. Maeve prayed to every God she knew, starting with those of her country. The Life Giver Daitel, the Life Taker Chale, every other name slipped through her tongue with no great amount of significance. They had nothing to do with the slaughter of innocents, and only life mattered now, so she prayed.
"Hang on my sweet." Maeve cooed the child but only received desperate spouts of gurgled blood from the edges of her lips. Little Ellara Wittacre was dying in her arms and there was nothing she could do to stop the slaughter around them.
"Duncan, get your ass over here, before someone finds us!" Maeve hissed back at a shadow darting just behind her hurried steps. There were four in their party total. One handmaiden, one knight, and two terrified little girls with no imagination left as to what was lurking in the halls of their home.
The man had no reply for the angered handmaiden. He busied himself with another child, older than the first. Her blonde hair was thick with matted blood, her eyes wide in horror, never once did they leave her sister's face. Little Ellara was stunned and bleeding, Catherine could do nothing but watch.
"Miss Maeve, where is Edward?" Catherine asked. "Where is mother, father, why aren't they with us? Who hurt Ellara?"
"Quiet, child, we need to run. No more questions." Duncan, the knight of the group hushed Catherine with a jolt of his hand forward. In his opposite was a great long sword meant for two hands. The one would do, adrenaline left him with great strength. Catherine complained against his grip but didn't ask anything else. The girl was smart enough to figure when to hold her tongue and when to speak, court had taught her that.
Only, this wasn't the court. The Lords and Ladies she was used to speaking with were dead on the steps of the grounds, the lone opposing voice was an arrow in their chest, and it was best Catherine never spoke up unless she wanted to join the popular opinion.
Fire rained down from the sky and set whole rooms ablaze with such ferocity the stone itself began to melt off the high rising spires. This of course, was where the memory and the dream differed. Poor Ellara could barely discern from the truth of the reality and the false memories any longer. In truth, the buildings were never on fire to begin with. There was no mage summoning forth hell to burn their home, only torches to catch to the tapestries around the grounds. Those were more susceptible to the element. Stone didn't burn, wouldn't burn, not unless it was by dragon fire.
Death was at her door, and only wanted to ease the pain with memories which seemed more grand than what lay in ruin around her.
From what Catherine said, as Ellara never remembered, they fled to the main road with nothing more than the very clothes on their backs. For Catherine, it consisted of her pale rose colored nightgown and a pair of mismatched slippers. Her hair was all tousled, but she insisted she'd looked good in her apparel. She feared more for Ellara's safety than what she was wearing, and she always made sure to say so.
The dream only continued in fire until the woods around them were red and distorted. Soldiers screamed after them, wolves sniffed the air to catch a taste of the royal bloodline, eager for the easy kill. None of it was real, the memories weren't there to justify the feeling of pain against her skin. It was burning, hot and cold all at once, the skin at her neck was cut jagged from a would be assassins shot at taking an eight year old girl's life.
He'd failed, to Sir Duncan Kelly's great liking.
Ellara woke with a start. Her hand slapped hard against her neck, only to meet the pink flesh of the botched attempt on her life. Tears started to spring from the corner of her pale blue eyes but good Maeve was there to stifle the familiar cry of pain which she long associated with the nightmare. The handmaiden's soft hands wrapped around the girl's mouth, knowing that a slip of the finger meant waking the entire Northern Wing of nobles. Ellara's shaking shoulders was enough to make her sigh with pity.
Even in disarray she was an image of beauty, no matter how many times she dissented. Her red hair was an uncommon sighting, even among the best bred nobles in the country. She was slender but not for lack of some form to her hips, now that she'd blossomed into a proper young lady. Ellara always compared herself to that of her sister. Tall, blonde, and sociable. They felt like stark opposites despite their relation by blood.
"It has been nine years and yet you still dream." Maeve's accent was slightly reminisce of a Mountain dwelling tribe, her words felt thick, like her tongue didn't have enough room in her own mouth, but it wasn't an unpleasant sound. While cumbersome, it was warm and filled with good intent with each syllable. "Do not weep."
Ellara did her best not to cry, as she did when the nightmare struck. The anniversary was coming closer and the dream only got worse with each passing night. It was the fourth time Maeve had to intervene that very week.
"Your sister is alive, you are alive, that is all that matters." Maeve removed her hand from the teen's mouth and used it instead to brush her fingers against her soft red hair. Ellara leaned heavily into the touch with her hands still grasping around the wound at her throat.
"Would you like some ribbon?" Maeve asked. Ellara's only response was a nod of her head.
It was a silly solution to a long festering problem. Ellara hated to go out in public with anything less than a high collared vestment. She was embarrassed of the mark, even though it represented much more than a close study of death. It stood for, according to Catherine dearest, for survival and a long lasting family lineage. Others called her brave, some thought her a miracle, but Ellara couldn't allow herself to let them see the mark which had almost been the end of her. It brought about too much pain.
Maeve tied a thick black length of silk around Ellara's throat and she felt better somehow. The handmaiden kissed the youth against her temple before standing to leave.
"I will return when you wake, alright?" She cooed. "Do not fear, my Lady Ellara. you have nothing to fear from anyone."
It wasn't long before the city was in a small uproar over Alexander's return, they'd known for a short month that he would indeed be returning to the city, but that didn't stop the masses from celebrating. Long banners trailed from distant rooftops down in the streets of the town, not stopping even as land turned to sea. Some of the vessels changed their flags to match the house colors of Roivas in the same celebration.Ellara sat in the tower of her sister's bedroom, gazing out into the crowd and trying to spot the man she'd known as a young girl. Back then, he was just a boy himself, reading stories about knights instead of acting the part. Would he return as brave as the well known Sir Porter of old? A man once said to have saved three Kings from death in battle, and uniting the countries in peace forever. Or would he be cold as Sir Haemon the Brutal, a soldier at heart, and nothing more. His sword was legendary, said to have been able to cut three men down with just the first half swing. She feared to say he had changed too much, and the boy she knew would have been locked away for good.
A scoff caught her in her daydreams, as her older sister approached her from behind. Catherine Wittacre cared not about the stories of old men and their swords. She cared more for the seasoned court of her new home, and finding the company of refined Ladies to be more entertaining than the knights of the realm. To her, all the fighting was so pointless. At least Ellara could agree that blood was best not shed on any battlefield. Catherine held the notion that all problems could be solved through words, and her twisted tongue was quite talented at getting what she wanted.
"So he's returned then?" She turned Ellara's head until her eyes found the one boy she'd been searching for. He'd grown taller, tanner, and she hadn't expected him to change so much in just a few short years, but he had.
"It would seem so." Ellara nodded her head once. Catherine took up her shining red hair to brush it, their presence had been requested with the Queen, and the younger of the two sister's hadn't figured out why. It was still best she look exquisite for Alexander's return. They still had to act the part of cousins, after all, and going to see their recently returned family was best with proper gowns and well combed hair.
The two sisters stood in the window of Catherine's chambers, the eldest all too content in staying quiet while she brushed through the tangles of red at her hands. There was a small, but sure, smile on her face. Like she knew something that no one else did. There was a secret, and she simply had been dying to tell it to someone.
"He's going to marry me." She blurted.
Ellara did the only thing she could, and tried to deflect the painful proclamation with her own words. "No he's not. You're supposed to be his cousin, Betty Thestral, and what would his family gain by marrying a cousin when there are so many other families to tap into?" She wasn't as good at contorting her words as her sister was.
"Because we're not cousins, it will be advantageous." She asserted with a yank of Ellara's hair. The younger grumbled a protest. "Come this afternoon and everyone will know we are certainly not cousins."
"You wouldn't tell them." Ellara grimaced at the thought. She rather liked being stowed away inside the castle. It was easier to imagine their families killer had no idea where they were such with fake identities to go by. They were assumed dead, lost to the tragedies at Great Kaehr, their home and their birthplace.
"I'm not the one who'll be saying anything." Catherine leaned down and whispered into her sister's ear. "But the Queen will be, to everyone in attendance. The Wittacre's are not gone, we are strong, and we will return for what was lost. Our home, don't you want that?"
Ellara said nothing to argue her sister. Her words were laced with venom and hate for the youth, who wanted nothing but to stay put, to hide from the past they had crawled from.
Catherine pulled away the ribbon around Ellara's neck, and she did nothing to stop her as she wrapped one pale and slender hand around the scar. There was an anger in the way she took hold of her sister's neck, but a gentle touch at the edges of pink, raw flesh. She wouldn't dare hurt her sister, but reminding her of the tragedy was a favorite pastime of hers.
"Don't you want to know who did this to you, to us?"
"Yes, sister." Ellara murmured. The hands slipped away and she could hear the click clack of her shoes as they paced away from her, and out the door. It slammed shut behind her and she could hear the same steps echo down the long hall. Ellara wiped at the tears which had rolled down her face.
It was all a lie. She wanted nothing more than to never know who had destroyed her life.
I have my main character, Ellara, created, as well as a handmaiden, the eldest sister, and two loyal Wittacre guards. I love to use banners and codes, and would be more than happy to help whoever is interested in making some themselves.
Please, PM me if you're interested! I am looking for someone who is serious, as I've grown rather attached to this particular plot.