Post by 𝓑𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐫 ♥ on Sept 9, 2017 12:00:01 GMT -5
How do you do, fellow kids?
I’m looking for a handful of advanced role-play partners. I’m defining “advanced” as someone who can write at a higher level (proper grammar barring stylistic choices) and is able to match my post length (I average 1,000-2,000 word posts when I get comfortable, I have an example at the bottom of this post). I’m not a huge fan of sprawling small-novels of posts unless you can keep me interested, though. I’m a college student, so my activity is limited; we can discuss a post schedule if you want.
Below I have listed plots – if you have an idea outside of these you want to try out feel free to hit me up, I just ask that it’s semi-fleshed out.
I’m ok with either muse in the plots, just lemme know which one you want.
“Séance You’ve Been Gone”:
(Supernatural/Mystery)
“Tempus Edax Rerum”:
(Dystopian)
“Hey there demons, it’s me, ya boy”
(Supernatural/Drama/Comedy)
“Kinder to Drown”:
(Historical – please be willing to do research)
“In the Pale Moonlight”
(Supernatural/drama)
EXAMPLE RP POST::
I’m looking for a handful of advanced role-play partners. I’m defining “advanced” as someone who can write at a higher level (proper grammar barring stylistic choices) and is able to match my post length (I average 1,000-2,000 word posts when I get comfortable, I have an example at the bottom of this post). I’m not a huge fan of sprawling small-novels of posts unless you can keep me interested, though. I’m a college student, so my activity is limited; we can discuss a post schedule if you want.
Below I have listed plots – if you have an idea outside of these you want to try out feel free to hit me up, I just ask that it’s semi-fleshed out.
I’m ok with either muse in the plots, just lemme know which one you want.
“Séance You’ve Been Gone”:
(Supernatural/Mystery)
They wouldn’t really call it a gift, you know, it’s more an aspect of their life. Just as with color vision, Muse A can imagine what it would be like if they couldn’t speak with the dead, but it’s not something they actively think about. It’s just – there – you know? And just like one doesn’t speak about being able to see in color, as if it was something extraordinary or unusual, Muse A, while seeming a bit odd to their peers, just doesn’t bring up that they can call upon the dead at whim. This is until the dead call upon them. It takes a particularly strong, or particularly hot-headed, spirit to be able to channel a medium without the living first creating the connection. But when you’re a ghost (Muse , with unfinished business, finding someone who can help you reach the living seems a worthy cause to break the laws of the dead.
(Muse A – the young medium)
(Must B – the ghost with unfinished business)
(Muse A – the young medium)
(Must B – the ghost with unfinished business)
“Tempus Edax Rerum”:
(Dystopian)
It’s not a surprise that Muse A survived the apocalypse. They’re ex-special ops; they had already been through hell before it engulfed the world. Muse B, on the other hand, rode on the back of luck. A medical student just starting their residency as a trauma surgeon, they hid in their university hospital as the undead inexplicably broke every single rule of science and starting killing people for fun. It turns out that Muse B is “immune” – sort of. Instead of being immune to bites, it’s as if Muse B does not exist to them; they might as well be a tree, it’s like they’re a blind spot in the zombies’ vision. Muse A realize that Muse B is basically the holy grail of the apocalypse and saves them to use as a bartering tool against any rival groups they might come across. Life, though, always carries with it more dangers than anticipated.
(Muse A – the military veteran)
(Muse B – the student doctor)
(Muse A – the military veteran)
(Muse B – the student doctor)
“Hey there demons, it’s me, ya boy”
(Supernatural/Drama/Comedy)
This one is rather simple: two college students, bored and stupid, accidentally summon a demon in the dorms. Hijinks ensue.
(Muse A – a college student who comes up with the brilliant idea to summon a demon)
(Muse B – a college student who’s too bored to say “that’s a bad idea”)
(Muse A – a college student who comes up with the brilliant idea to summon a demon)
(Muse B – a college student who’s too bored to say “that’s a bad idea”)
“Kinder to Drown”:
(Historical – please be willing to do research)
Muse A is the first mate of a British trading vessel during the late 18th century. While sailing through the Caribbean they stumble upon someone (Muse clinging to what appears to be either a raft or the remains of a vessel. As they are nearly dead, the ship takes pity on them and rescues them. The first mate recognizes that this person fits the description of one of the most notorious pirate captains of the time, but if that is true, it makes no sense that they would be just adrift in the ocean, so Muse A decides to hold their tongue… for better or for worse.
(Muse A – the first mate of a British merchant navy vessel)
(Muse B – the “ex?” pirate captain)
(Muse A – the first mate of a British merchant navy vessel)
(Muse B – the “ex?” pirate captain)
“In the Pale Moonlight”
(Supernatural/drama)
Muse A is a Monster Hunter, trained since birth to be able to identify dangerous supernatural beasts and exterminate them. Their family is hired by a town plagued by supernatural occurrences to exterminate any threats before the villagers become suspicious. Muse B is a werewolf (description for the sake of this rp: someone who is able to turn into a wolf at will and has full control over the form, essentially a shapeshifter) who has lived their entire life secluded in the woods, taught from birth that they are seen as a monster and thus must hide their identity. Muse A, while on a casual stroll through the woods, stumbles upon Muse B. Protocol dictates that they must put down Muse B. However, they don’t, whether out of pity or curiosity. This small digression would have been bad enough, if they didn’t start talking…
(Muse A – the monster hunter)
(Muse B – the monster)
(Muse A – the monster hunter)
(Muse B – the monster)
EXAMPLE RP POST::
This had not been Laisren’s first failure (nowhere near - he was only human; it would be unreasonable to assume otherwise) but it still stung nonetheless; a fresh flesh wound, all torn nerve endings and rubbed off skin. He is not so presumptive as to tell himself that the failure was not his fault. It was; that much is undeniable, unquestionable, and Crown Prince Mika, when discussing it, would probably not hesitate to place the blame upon his inferior. No, everything that went wrong could have been prevented with a well-placed suggestion, with a swift change of direction. He should have killed the wolf when he had the chance. He had hesitated for a moment, gave into that little bubble of hope that collected in his lungs every time he saw a discrepancy between wolf and beast, and made a request of her. As if she would ever concede to him, a Red Huntsmen, slayer of her kind and who, as far as she knew, planned on finishing the job as soon as he got the information he needed. No. It was a stupid decision, formed on impulse alone, but – and this was the part that he did not like to admit but still did, anyways, because he would rather bite off his own tongue than lie to himself (was more likely to do both) – he didn’t regret doing it.
If there was even a sliver of potential that he could find information about Clio, than he would take it. (That is why he is searching for information, why he is so invested in the pack; joining the Red Huntsmen was more than just a quest for retribution.)
You see, Laisren adored his sisters; loved them with every atom of his being, a kind of love that seemed to define the very essence of his person, that, even now, manifested physically in his bruised ribs, a reminder with every alcohol drowned breath that they were gone.(and death is one of the few definitive things in the universe that is infinite)
As the oldest sibling he had always felt responsible for them, a mindset exacerbated by the fact that his parents were almost entirely absent from the younger two siblings upbringing (a fact noted and taken personally by Daithi, as he would let anyone within earshot know; Clio, on the other hand, had always been more passive about it, as if it were only natural that her parents were little more than transient figures, appearing to drag them along to dinners or critique her appearance before disappearing to some greater occupation.) It so reasoned that, if Laisren was responsible for their safety, it was his fault, his failing, that they had (died). (He always phrases "died" parenthetically, a side note that is not quite true, but still accurate. Clio was not, physically, dead. But she might as well have been.)
There was a 50 percent chance that, upon being bitten by a werewolf, one would die. The other 50 percent would, inexplicably, in a process beyond the understanding of science, beyond the understanding of the human mind, as it had evolved so far, perhaps, transform into a Wolf. Why this happened was uncertain; Laisren had studied it, back in school, when he had been considering a major in medicine (he had studied it again in a class he took with a friend as a joke; the philosophy of magic, or something of the like. It must seem strange, in a world where unexplainable phenomena like werewolves exist, for such a significant portion of the population to believe that magic is just superstition, to stigmatize all those who claim to have witnessed it as conspiracy theorists, or attention seeking fools. Laisren finds himself somewhere in the middle, what you could loosely define as a magic agnostic; magic may or may not exist and he doesn’t really give a sh*t either way. Unless, of course, there is an immediately discernable benefit from it – but that is neither here nor there.)
Anyways, Laisren is looking at himself in a palace bathroom mirror, and two of his siblings were bitten by werewolves, one died, the other may or may not have died depending on how you look at it, and he just failed the Crown Prince because he is an idiot.
(He doesn’t regret a thing.)
There were more important matters to attend, though, than his mellifluous musings about a past he cannot change. Laisren runs a hand through his hair (it’s getting too long, starting to look less like ivy-league-prep-boy stumbled into the army and got a fashionable undercut and more along the lines of punk-rock-teenager-sent-into-the-army-by-his-parents-to-learn-discipline) slowly, untangling a knot near the base of his skull, before turning towards the door. Duty called. While the Crown Prince was locked in an unexpected meeting with his mother, Laisren had Red Huntsmen business to take care of.
Specifically, a messenger had come in from Lisburn earlier that day with what was apparently urgent information, so much so that Laisren, being the most veteran hunter among the Red Huntsmen stationed at the palace and subsequently the highest ranking (besides Mika, of course, but being that the Crown Prince was currently preoccupied) was to be briefed on the matter immediately. The palace entry chamber was so ornate it bordered on ostentatious; the vaulted ceilings were adorned with elaborate frescoes, the windows and walls were gilded, gold twisting around the chamber like the tendrils of some exotic vine. This room was probably worth more than a quarter of the peasants in Arderra’s yearly salaries combined. The thought was sickening in an offhand way, a casual distaste more than anything; Laisren was already aware that the world was cruel and unfair, this extravagance only served as a reminder.
The girl standing in the center of the room looked distinctly out of place among the fineries that surrounded her. Laisren surveyed her as he approached, assuming that, logically she was the messenger from Lisburn. To put it bluntly, she looked like a messenger, too. The most noticeable thing about the girl was her stature – she was short, barely over five foot (a stark contrast to Laisren’s 6’2), with tanned olive skin and close cropped black hair. Easily placed as either a merchant or a farmer’s daughter; the room she was standing it was probably more beautiful than anything she had ever seen. The thought was almost endearing.
The charm lasted up until she opened her mouth.
“You don’t look like Prince Revel”
The girl turned to look at him, pulling her hands out from her pockets and placing one on her waist, the other hanging down, open palmed, at her side. It wasn’t her tone so much that bothered Laisren (which itself was poignantly disrespectful, half bored-half accusatory) but her expression, or rather, lack of. She did not looked awed, as one might expect from a peasant girl ushered into the most brilliant grand hallway in the Kingdom, nor did she look professional, by any means. Her hair was tousled, presumably from riding all the way from Lisburn, sweat glistening off her brow, and her tan and chestnut uniform neither that of a royal messenger or anything befitting to meet the prince in, really. You could have plucked any beggar off the streets and replaced them with this girl and one would have barely recognized the difference; they might even be more deferential.
“He’s busy, presently.” Laisren replied as he approached her, nodding his head in recognition; he, at least, would show some sign of being well mannered. “I am Lieutenant Laisren O Coileain, I work under the Crown Prince. He sent me to greet you.”
“Seirian Dorchaidhe” – and that name sounded vaguely familiar, not immediately recognizable but - “Captain of the Northern Lisburn Guard” – oh.
“My apologies, ma’am”, Laisren steps back (he isn’t sure whether this means she outranked him or not, probably, considering that he was just a Hunter, albeit a rather respected one, but the Red Huntsmen were not government officials – more along the lines of hired mercenaries, really, so their rankings were not directly correlated with those of the guard) but he nods again nonetheless, “I was under the impression you were sending a messenger.”
“I was, but it’s too big of an issue to trust some poorly paid kid to deliver” Honestly, she still didn’t sound like any ranking official he had ever met, granted he had grown up in the affluent area of Kilcully, and Lisburn was a whole different beast. “And anyways, it’s complicated. I thought it was probably best ya’ll hear it from me.”
“Complicated how?”
“How much do you know about dog fighting?”