This one has proven to be quite popular. That also means I have multiples of it going. You are free to ask about it, but for it to go anywhere there needs to be something exceptional.

It has been decades since the incident with Sir Davion. Everyone knows his story, the bards haven't shut up about it in all those years. The knight was sent to vanquish the eldwyrm Slyrak like any other dragon he had killed across the years. But the dragon did not go down neatly and instead, in its final attack, had its soul possess the knight's body. Now the shell of the knight with the mind of an eldwyrm travels the countryside, burning down all villages he comes across with a fiery breath, eradicating entire platoons of men sent after him, seeking the king who sent him on the quest to put an end to it all. At least, that is how the story goes.

I've multiple potential starts for this, depending whether you would like to play another exile, a simple villager, or perhaps even a bounty hunter after the prize on the very real Sir Davion's head. Possibilities are nearly endless.

To most, Arthur Ironbloom was just another man on the road. Well, with the exception of him being blind of course. The same "truth" was what brought a bunch of bandits down on him, only to receive a hefty surprise. In the countryside magic was not an everyday occurrence, outright destructive sort nearly unheard of. But that was what Ironbloom packed. You see, the man was and is a Warlock bound into service of Kilrogg the All-Seeing. All of Kilrogg's warlocks are blinded to their own eyes as they join the magnificent gaze of the old one, in return they gain a small familiar they call "Eye of Kilrogg", a little floating eye covered in purple smoke that shares it's vision with them and acts as a link to their patron's magic. Nevertheless, Arthur barely defeated the assailants intent on murdering him for his belongings, but had to deal the final blow with a hidden dagger, blind to the word around him. His familiar had died.

Your character has found the wounded warlock passed out on the road out of blood loss and brought him to their home to recover, as unknowing of his bond to the world beyond ours as anyone else. Ironbloom takes advantage of the hospitality, pretending to indeed be just another blind wanderer, but his restless eyes tell a different story, moving as if they still perceived the world around him...

Written in the annals of history, a fact has made itself perfectly clear. Both times the kingdom of Rakkal has had a leader with magical aptitude, everything has gone wrong. While usually the crown is passed to the eldest child, this one time the older brother was left in the dust thanks to his skill in the art, leaving his little brother on the throne.

Obviously the eldest is not happy with this and as his abilities only surfaced relatively late, he was more than trained enough to lead the country. Unlike his brother, who was trained in the art of war to become his general. Reduced to the rank of an advisor, the eldest eventually grew fed up with being the de facto leader with zero recognition and began staging a coup. He would get his rightful position, even if it meant the death of his brother. Turning to the spymaster of the kingdom, someone that had effectively served under his rule from the beginning and knew perfectly well how the situation was in the castle, the eldest demanded things to be set right.

A war ravaged the elven lands. In all of these years the elves had not yet suffered a single loss and had been proud of the fact. Then Horrorsworth united the monsterkind and the real challenge began. Sure, dealing with a type at a time had been simple enough, since you could always anticipate just what they were capable of. But the mixed tactics were a whole another deal. It took certain precautions to face a rabid band of gnolls, but those didn't work against Ettercaps or an organised Hobgoblin militia. And when they all struck at a same time from different fronts, both the advantage in numbers and the problem of being unable to prepare against all the ways of war the enemy had at once drove the elves back from the lands they had claimed for themselves.

Some soldiers were caught, most eaten. But one warrior/bladesinger/whatever strikes you fancy, really found themselves being hauled before the leader of the enemy, bound... and wholly surprised to see that the rumours of the Queen of Monsterkind, Jaina Horrosworth, had held some truth after all.

Well, one, really. Using a plural might have been an exaggeration, many would agree. But it was safe to assume that the alien stored in the observation area was not the last surviving member of its kind, and the government was worried. While the specimen appeared docile, their tail held enough strength to out-wrestle three fully grown men! Only once the creature had been pumped full of tranquilliser had they managed to transport it. And that was worrisome.

A reputable scientist was set to making sense of this new arrival. What was it composed of? How would it react to different stimulants? Was there an efficient way for containing them? All that sort of things. But it just so happened that every field had their deviants who would also find it in them to ask a simple question: It looks human enough. Can we... engage in sexual acts with it?

You have stumbled upon the exception to rule one. Here either male or female character works on your part.

Your character would be someone who was lost in the mountains. A hiker that veered off the path, fell down a nasty drop and broke their leg, any accident of that sort really. Or perhaps there was something else to it? Escaping a life in which they felt trapped, only to realise they weren't exactly ready enough to make it in the wilds? Either way, they end up passing out and awakening again in a warm room, tucked in bed staring at a ceiling they are sure they've never seen before, with an odd purple skinned humanoid creature soon entering the room and watching over them with big, yellow eyes and a book in her hands. The apparent saviour was dressed in something that closely resembled a french maid outfit, and though the feminine figure did not speak a word, she almost instinctively seemed to be able to tell the first few requests of the injured wanderer she'd rescued.

But other than an obedient servant, what was she? What was she doing here? And how exactly had you ended up in here? Saved as the person might be, they were now surrounded by even more questions. And the mute servant did not ease said burden whatsoever.

Pace warning: Slow. Aiming for lots of "conversational" content, should probably just call it character interaction, and figuring out just what this other person is. Not a human, that's for damn sure. And what is this house? All they've seen thus far is just the room they are kept in for their recovery.
Though I suppose if you play a particularly horny character it'll just end up devolving. It might happen, but please try to be interested in the rest of the premise too

Have you always wanted to have a less-than-perfect adventure? In addition to victories, also experiencing the humiliating defeat along the way? Well if that's the case I might have something for you...

This is an adventure, or should I say a misadventure, for a character of yours. And since this is much more open ended in every direction, I don't see how I could make this description much longer. Dungeon delving, open world, anything goes!

This one takes place in the Neath featured in the games produced by Failbetter Games, specifically the areas present in their browser game Fallen London. Don't let that scare you away though, I do not expect perfect knowledge of the universe! I hardly possess it myself!

The Cumaean Canal over on the Mediterranean sea was the preferred option for entering the Neath, available for those with the money or connections to hire a Zee-captain to take them through there. Now with the gas lights of Wolfstack Docks edging ever closer in the horizon, the horrors encountered on the subterranean Unterzee seem almost as if they could never have been there. For heaven's sake, that mountain had chased them for miles and screamed incomprehensible messages at them… that many of the zailors seemed to have scribbled down. They had meant nothing to you. Many assured they never would. And you didn't have time for such trivialities either way. You had come down here for a reason.

What was said reason? Had a relative moved down here, only for your private correspondence to come to an abrupt halt? Had you fallen into the confines of the Great Game, unable or unwilling to get out? Were you escaping someone? Had someone tried to escape you? Or perhaps the many treasures of the Neath intrigued you so? Either way, you had set out prepared. A contact of a contact of a contact had set you up with a local they described as someone they would not trust with anything but their life. An odd way to put things, but was it not a bodyguard with knowledge of the land below the surface that you were looking for? It would do.

And the bodyguard would wait for you at the docks. They would approach with a confident stride and pop by just as the first devil had already been making overtures for your soul. "You must be the one. Welcome to the Neath, delicious friend", this sagacious individual would say with a grin and a welcoming gesture. And from the meeting of the two would begin a story that could make the Bazaar weep.

This one, too, is quite open ended. A lot of where it goes is dependent on the motivations of the traveller arriving.