Hey, guys. I'm an advanced (Well, I think so; you might disagree) roleplayer, looking for others who would class themselves as 'advanced', to hopefully collaborate on a roleplay that we can both enjoy. Below, I'll list a few things I'm interested in, but if you have any ideas that you'd like to try out, just comment below or send me a PM, I'd love to hear them. As a summary, a few of the themes in a roleplay that I'm interested in including romance, mystery, horror, action and fantasy. I'm also open to playing both male and female roles, and playing more than one character, if needed.
- The Elder Scrolls
- The Walking Dead
- Dark Souls
- Mass Effect
- Doctor Who
- Lord of the Rings
- Resident Evil
- Falling Skies
- Silent Hill
- Many, many more!
That's just a small list of the fandom's I'd be willing to roleplay in; there are a few more, but none come to mind right now. Of course, I am more than open to orignal ideas. I often find myself prefering roleplays with a darker twist to them, but really, I'm open to most ideas, as long as they interest me. So please, don't hesitate to Pm me or comment below, I'd love to here from you.
Oh, and before we do anything, I'd like to see a writing sample, if that works, unless I've RP'd with you before. This is just so I can get a feel for your writing style. Below, I've posted a sample from myself, from the beginnings of a roleplay I created a while back on another site.
My Own Original Ideas:
'The almost liquid flame of which Antony fixated all of his attention flickered brief, leaving him in utter darkness. It only lasted for the blink of an eye, but he noticed it. The flame, burning on top of a dirty beige, drooping wax candle, had never halted or faulted before, making this one instance of it's brief disappearance rather curious to him. Almost forgetting to blink himself, he stared vacantly at the small, glistening orange of it. Sure enough, it eventually flickered again, proving Antony's suspicions. Someone had opened a door. Someone was coming.
Inching back in his cell, he stepped out of the out-stretched beam of light cast by the candle, moving into the back shadows of his home. This is where he felt safe; out of the illuminating light and heat of the only thing that kept him from sitting in complete and utter darkness. An unending abyss of which he was trapped inside.
Again, the fire flickered.
His cell lay beyond much of the heat caused by the candle, meaning the stone cell floor was cold to the touch, almost like walking barefoot on ice. The walls followed this, and if he could reach, he imagined the ceiling did as well. He didn't shiver, however; he was use to the cold, just as his eyes had perfectly adjusted to the darkness from which his life revolved around.
Footsteps. That's what came next. The lumbering, heavy, paw like footprints of which Antony had grew to recent, and almost fear. Almost. They approached from beyond his line of sight, but he knew they wouldn't be long. They never were ones to waste time.
His cell, his home for longer then his mind would allow him to remember, showed nothing of interest; other then the slim flakes of light cast by the candle, the only notable object in the cell was that of the straw, which lay in a pile in one corner. Other then that, it held three confining walls, the solid cracked floor, and the unusually high, unreachable ceiling, which in the darkness of his cell, was out of sight. Other then that, the barred, cell door was the only thing keeping him from being completely confided in his tomb.
The walls were not without signs, however. Numerous, claw like marks filled one side of the walls, accompanied by the scarlet black stains of which Antony had created, in a feeble attempt to mark the passing of time. With no widow, he had no idea how many days, weeks, or years had passed since his imprisonment, so the claw like marks was his only form of time, despite him giving up on them years ago.
The footsteps drew closer, with each step filling his gut with a foul feeling. Was it his time? He would soon find out.
He scratched at the long, curled beard that had formed across his jaw, hanging loose at neck length. The metal of the chains which kept his hands together rattled, breaking the silence which had lasted days; Antony couldn't remember the last time he spoke, even to himself. The chains were a constant reminder of his imprisonment, and of the false hope and promises which had led to his being here. False hope. Promises. It all seemed like someone else's life. So long ago.
He briefly glimpsed down at the identical chains which kept a firm grasp on his pale, skeleton-like feet. Pale was an understatement; Antony hadn't seen direct sun-light since he was brought here. Another life time ago.
There were more of them. More footsteps, approaching from the darkness, coming for him. He was certain of that. It was his time, again.
Looking down over himself, wearing nothing but a tattered and torn sack cloth, he could just make out the markings that were across himself. The scars. The constant reminder of what they had done to him, what they had done to everyone entombed within this place. One such scar ran across his bare chest, a white slice of which they had taken great pleasure to create. Even now, he could feel the dull pain of his bones, scratched and engraved with their tools of torture.
He had been so caught up in thought, that he hadn't noticed the ominous figure which now stood before him, blocking out the streams of fluid light. The figure, shrouded in darkness, stood perfectly still, so still in fact, that he even questioned his own sanity as to whether the figure was real. Staring at it with a questioning expression, he took a few steps forward towards the bars, hunched over slightly. The figure seemed to glare at him, and if he didn't know any better, he could have sworn it grinned at him, a predatory, tooth grin which unnerved Antony.
“It's time.” The figure told him, the words snapping off the edge of his tongue. Antony didn't reply. He was still unsure on the origins of the figure; it didn't resemble any of the wardens which prowled these halls. It reached forward towards his cell, holding a rattling set of keys in his hand, turning them. “Is this him?” The figure turned, asking yet another figure who appeared next to him.
“Yes. Let's take him and leave, I don't like it here.” The new figure stated, looking over his shoulder cautiously. He was right about one thing. Nobody liked it here. It was a place the weak, the vile, and the betrayed were sent to die. If they were fortunate, death would come swiftly. Antony wasn't fortunate.
With a hollow, high pitched creek, the door to the cell opened up, and the figures moved inside, taking Antony by his shoulders and forcing him out of the cell. Still not saying a word, they led him down the black, circular pathway, past the other cells. Battered arms reached out from a few of the cells, quivering and broken. Screams haunted the pathway, howls and cries a familiar sound to anyone inside. This was the Spire. A place of former glory and honour, turned into a tower of despair and torture, of death and hopelessness. A ruby liquid trickled along the ground, following the slightly sloped spiral pathway downwards, in the same direction Antony was forced to walk.
“Can you hear that? What goes on in this place?” Asked one of the figures, his voice filled with concern, something Antony hadn't heard in so long.
“You've heard the stories. Let's just get this over with, and take this prisoner to Lanius so we can finish today.”
“If you say so. Who do you think is in here? I've heard of people disappearing. You think they are here?” The figure repeatedly questioned, apparently trying to take his mind from the wails of those trapped here.
In a hush tone, the other replied, “Don't go around asking questions like that. You might wake up in here.” The other warned him, effectively ending the others insistent questions.
As they walked, they approached yet another group of figures, who stood holding a torch; raging fire illuminating them all, and slowly illuminating Antony. The figure holding the torch said, “You have him? Good. Here, put this over his head. Let's go.”
With that, something was placed over Antony's face, blocking him from the first clear bit of light he had seen in a while. Before he knew it, they were leading him away, but with him still encased within darkness.'