Dylan

[Paper Faces on Parade] Dylan x Early [18+]

As the duo continued to step and twirl amongst the sea of color that was the dance floor, the tension which had so steadily grew in intensity throughout the length of their interaction seemed to falter slightly with the admittance of Maximillian’s curiosity. Where Clara had kept him at arm’s length but a few moments prior, they now found themselves a mere breath’s distance from one another as the band transitioned into another song. Fortunately for the white-clad gentleman, the song’s tempo and harmony melodiously flowed into one another without pause, and his simple, elegant footwork could persist at the same pace. Max was far too consumed by his circumstances to busy himself with the likes of a complicated style of dance; he was far more interested in discovering just where it was that he had met this intriguing specimen. His life was long and his experiences varied, but the feeling which Clara evoked within him was unique enough that he was sure it had formed some sort of lasting impression. Though she did not look more than eighteen, Max was intimately familiar with the concept of deceptive appearances. Most place him within the range of his early twenties, but only a select few individuals were aware of the truth behind his carefully crafted illusion. However, regardless of the amount of effort he put toward recalling the face which dwelled beneath her mask, his mind inevitably found itself incapable of recalling any appearance that could be connected to Clara’s soft, chilly voice. As he carefully pondered their situation, Clara’s diminutive voice breached the silence which had connected the gap separating them. Her glimmering, hazel-framed pupils met his own once further, and her words were met with a surprised chuckle on the part of Maximillian; he certainly didn’t strike her as the type to have a sense of humor that went beyond the level of dismissive sarcasm.

After another brief instant of comfortable silence passed between them, another unexpected smile worked its way onto what was visible of his dance partner’s features. The simple gesture seemed to brighten her disposition significantly, but only for a moment. As she continued speaking, her already small and light voice quieted even further, and Max couldn’t entirely prevent a sly grin that found its way onto his masked visage. It was no small feat for her to admit something to a stranger, especially something so strange as the tether of familiarity which had suddenly bound them together. However, as if suddenly realizing just what it was that she was saying, her voice returned to its former volume as she quickly dismissed his small victory. From the few moments Max had spent alongside the mysterious Clara, it was easy to conclude that she did not take kindly to the interest others seemed to have in her. If not for their mutual feelings of passing familiarity with one another, he was sure that their conversation would have ended long ago. Regardless, he resigned himself to learning the truth. He had already come this far in this little time; what could he possibly have to lose? Her declarations, though less outright hostile than they were previously, still struck Max as very defensive. Though he had made a good start, he would have to continue navigating the waters carefully if he was to truly discover the truth behind her mask.

“I must say, I’m surprised in my own right. It is not a common occurrence for someone to make me consider my own words so carefully in passing conversation.” He paused for a moment to flash a bright, relaxed smile, and remained silent briefly as his eyes fell upon Clara’s tightly pursed lips. It was evident that they were both deep within the realms of thought, doing their best to discover the true identity of the person standing before them, but they had reached an impassable point of discussion. In a place as public as this, there was only so much that could be said of his past, let alone to a stranger. He was sure that the truth behind his attraction to her was locked within her necklace, and he inevitably swallowed his inhibitions and continued speaking in a relaxed, quiet tenor. There was only one way to solve the intricate equation which had drafted itself before their green hued gazes, and it was with action.

“It was the stone upon your necklace that first ignited the fires of curiosity in my mind. Oddly enough, from the very moment I laid my eyes upon it, I haven’t been able to keep my mind off of you.” He paused briefly as he watched a delicate brown curl fall onto Clara’s masked features, and as it did so, he was struck with an incredibly strong sense of déjà vu. At some point in his life, he had experienced this exact same moment to some degree. He was sure that several details weren’t matching up in his brain, but suddenly, he felt as though the puzzle pieces were starting to work themselves into the proper place in his mind. What was visible of his features suddenly became void of the emotion he’d displayed previously as he became lost in thoughts of the past. The feeling of the sea foam drizzling against his brow, the pungent, salty odor of the ocean’s waves cascading across a moonlit beach, the passionate heat of flesh meeting flesh, and most of all, the shine of an uncut emerald glimmering upon bare skin in the crescent moon’s glow. It was the first jewel he’d ever had the fortune to call his own. Though he knew he wouldn’t be able to afford it, he had to have it—and damned be the consequences of splurging on such a frivolous commodity. As sudden as the brief memory overcame him, his senses finally returned. Without realizing, he had subconsciously taken a large step backward in the process of his recollection. He was starting to remember, but the dance of wits and platitudes would no longer prove itself sufficient to jog his memory. As he cleared his throat and returned his gaze to Clara’s eyes, he realized that he had drifted off into the haze of his thoughts for far longer than he intended. He pulled away from her slightly and looked off into the crowd of suits and gowns which coated the floor’s tiles; who was she, and why was she evoking these feelings and memories which had remained dormant within him for so long? He considered his next plan of action for an instant as he returned his emerald gaze to her masked visage, then finally broke the silence which had spawned between them. It was better to end this charade before it became too complicated. The memories she awakened within his psyche were restored alongside feelings of longing, desperation, and regret, and those were three feelings which the elegantly dressed gentleman did not find himself comfortable feeling so suddenly. It was time to rid himself of the problem he had created before it seriously affected him.

“Please forgive me, Clara. I did not wish to forget my manners in such a way. I must apologize for inconveniencing you on this eve, but if you could kindly excuse me, I believe I have taken enough of your valuable time. Thank you for the dance.” With that being said, Max didn’t spare his former dance partner so much as a glance backward as he quickly made his way back toward the table which contained their beverages. He quickly took up his cane and scotch, and then began to escort himself to the nearest exit, all the while ignoring the strange glances of the passerby as his exposed features knit themselves into twisted embroidery of irritation and confusion. As he made his way out of the masquerade’s main event, he lightly tapped his cane against the floor as he traversed the elegantly arranged hallways of their host’s manor. It was a luxurious abode to be sure, but the elegance of the furnishings did little to comfort the unease in Maximillian’s mind. In time, he eventually found his way to the outside world, and sighed in relief as the chilly mountain air washed over him. He quickly stomached what remained of his scotch, then carelessly shattered the empty glass on the concrete of the manor’s exterior. Manners were the least of his concerns at the moment. He took a moment to dig through his jacket and withdrew a cigarette and a lighter, inhaling sharply upon the mentholated tube of tobacco as his thoughts wandered back to Clara. He wasn’t sure she would follow him, but if she did, he wasn’t quite sure what he would say to her next. To have conducted their interaction with such ease and confidence, only to suddenly bolt from his conquest altogether was distinctly unlike him. He could only wonder how Clara had reacted to the display. It was for that reason and that reason alone that his mask remained upon his face as he smoked his cigarette, attempting to figure out whether or not his curiosity was worth his trouble. Only time could tell, he supposed.

[Paper Faces on Parade] Dylan x Early [18+]

When one is bestowed the gift of undeath, they are quick to discover that their near-limitless span of life provides them access to the universe’s most valuable and finite resource. It is the bane of the mortal mind, and what brings demise even to the most powerful of men. Without the limits of mortality shackling the sentient mind, the time in which one is given allows them to acquire a great variety of skills. Some choose to hone the strength of their bodies, and others thrive with their increased perception and reaction time. Maximillian, on the other hand, most greatly values the time he was granted to educate himself in the finer aspects of life as he had once known it. Throughout the centuries, he found himself at odds with adversaries both cunning and powerful, and was certainly no stranger to the likes of a dual of wits. However, never in even his extended lifespan did he consider that one could leave him so easily starved of the words which he valued as his greatest of strengths. As he expected, his dance with Clara had only just begun, and he found himself lost within the hidden meaning of her cryptic replies. She was equally as skilled in the art of verbal confrontation as he, if not more so, and he was completely aware of it. As he awaited her response, he fixed his emerald gaze firmly upon her masked features.

As their dance continued and the distance between them narrowed, the tone of their conversation took a decidedly intriguing turn as Clara’s soft, delicate tones drifted into Max’s ears. The close proximity of their bodies created an illusion of intimacy as they exchanged words, and to the masked dancers adjacent, they must have truly appeared lost in the other’s company. The reality of their exchange was far from intimate, and Clara’s words eloquently severed the strands of his narrative with every syllable she pronounced. As effective as his words were in arousing her curiosity, she saw through their smokescreen as clearly as if she was gazing upon the stars through a telescope. In her own words, she was far from typical. It was that alone that aroused his attention so acutely. This masquerade was a playground; every dress, every piece of jewelry, every curvaceous and voluptuous form awaiting a man’s company was completely within his grasp. Yet, his curiosity, his incessant drive to acquire truth placed him at the mercy of this emerald herald. The smile which blossomed so unexpectedly upon her face after she spoke her truth was one of victorious anticipation. She knew full well that the words within her mind would seal his fate before he could so much as muster a viable response, and with that she layed her accusation between them for them both to bare witness to. Truly, what was it that he was looking for? Every last instinct within him screamed that exposing his intent was a poor choice in judgment, but for the first time in one hundred and fifty years, Maximillian ignored the subconscious cries of warning which flooded his brain. If this Clara was truly as intriguing as originally thought, it would take far more than an honest declaration on the part of a stranger to send her back into the realm of obscurity.

“Perhaps,” He began, narrowing the distance which separated them even further. His hand, once modestly placed upon her hip, now slid carefully into the small of her back as the tension between them rose to a boiling point. His eyes locked gazes with hers, and he felt the soft tingle of electricity bouncing along the length of his spine as he leaned his masked face ever so slightly toward hers. What was once a modest distance between them was now but a few inches of open air, and Maximillian’s tone was significantly softer than it was prior; and within it, it held an unbridled an unexplainable passion which hung upon his every word.

“Perhaps my curiosity has, for once in my life, taken a hold of my body. Perhaps when I first laid my eyes upon you from afar, I was ensnared by the aura of emotion which you wore as a cloak. Perhaps, even in this moment, I cannot help but feel as though our eyes have met in darker days than this one. But above all else…” He paused for a moment, pulling away from her slightly as he did so. For the briefest instant, Maximillian’s eyes fell into a fog of distant memory; her voice, her figure, and her very aura felt so familiar, and yet her identity completely eluded him. Who was this strange woman who had entranced him so? As suddenly as he drifted off, his awareness returned to him, and he turned his attention back toward Clara’s emerald pendant.

“Perhaps I’ve been consumed by the madness of uncertainty which plagues my mind in your presence. One could spend eons chipping away at the castle which surrounds your inner-most thoughts, but this man prefers a more... Direct approach.” As the last sentence left his lips, he couldn’t help but allow the corners of his lips to rise in a fraction of a smile. His gaze remained firmly fixed with hers, and he narrowed the distance between them even further, leaving only an inch or two between them as their dance continued.

“What say you now, Ms. Clara? Have I ignited that same curiosity within your soul, or shall I leave you to your loneliness?”

M seeking F for fast-paced zombie apocalypse RP (18+)

Hey everyone!

I wanted to put this request up in a separate thread to my pre-existing interest check, mostly because it differs greatly in theme. To be blunt, I’m looking for a zombie apocalypse roleplay. I know, it’s a bit generic, but over the last week or so I’ve been craving it pretty badly. If you’re willing to indulge my craving, here’s a little bit of general information about myself, as well as my standards and expectations for my partners.

Me, Myself, and I

-I'm 21
-I’m Male
-I'm a university student in the Northeastern United States (Eastern Standard Time, GMT -5)
-I study marketing. Because reasons.
-I have a 1 and 1/2 year old daughter. She's pretty fucking cool for a toddler, too.
-I love video games, and anything that involves them. Especially RPGs, fighting games, strategy games, and things with a really heavy and detailed story.
(This will be really confusing later on)
-I love anime. Particularly Naruto, Bleach, Yu Yu Hakusho, Rurouni Kenshin, Fullmetal Alchemist, and a little bit of Gundam for flavor. However, these
are not the only anime I’m into. If you have a particular favorite, just ask if I've watched-- I probably have.
- dungeons and dragons is my bread and butter.

- I am legally blind. Yes, the kind of blind which involves me not being able to see the computer screen, or my TV. You may be asking, "But wait... How
do you play video games? How are you even using this computer? Are you real??" The answer is... Pretty unamusing, honestly. Except for the gaming. So please
be patient and I’ll get to that in a second.

I lost my vision around 8 years ago to a mitochondrial condition known as Leber's Hereditary Optic Neuropathy (LHON). It's a ridiculously rare and ridiculously
complex condition that, in its simplest terms, caused me to lose vision in both of my eyes over a period of around 6-7 months. This all occurred during
my last year of middle school, so throughout high school, in addition to doing all of the normal high school stuff, I learned how to navigate using a cane,
read Braille, and a few other neat tricks that help me survive. For example, I'm using this computer right now with the assistance of a program known as
JAWS 16.0. JAWS stands for Job Access With Speech, but I prefer to think that it's not an acronym, and that a digital shark is guiding me through the internet.

Oookay, so that answers that question. But you still probably wonder how I play video games. (Or you don't care...) Either way, I'll explain that really
quick so I don't have to later on. With some games it's more complicated than this, but with most games I simply learn the pattern of the menus, learn
where all of the selectable characters are located, memorize their combos/controls/special moves.... I think you get where I’m going with this. I literally
memorize EVERY ASPECT OF THE GAME and do my best to play it from memory. Results vary, but for the most part I do pretty well. Especially with fighting
games. (And I mea nlike.. Actually playing them, not just hitting buttons like a spaz.) I can play other games too, but my process is entirely dependent
upon the game that I’m playing, and the structure of the game in question. It's not like I can play battlefield or call of duty. I'm not that lucky.

But I think I’ve talked enough about this. Let's get to the good stuff now.

Roleplaying Guidelines

-If you're not 18, I’m not going to be all that comfortable roleplaying with you. Sorry. That's probably the one rule I’m not willing to negotiate.

-All guild rules apply. Because we all want to be cool, like the Fonz

-I enjoy dark themes. intense violence, blood, gore, drug use, the works. I'm also cool with other mature themes, like sex. I'm pretty much limitless in
this regard.

- I am blind; therefore pictures are pretty useless to me. If you're going to describe your character's appearance with a picture, you're in the wrong
place. That kind of stuff doesn't fly with me for obvious reasons. Just do your best to type out an appearance section in your character sheet. Preferably
a paragraph or two.

-I write at an advanced level. I expect you to do so as well. I will request a sample of your writing if I feel so inclined, and you hold the same privilege.
If you think I’m bullshitting you, you're fully within your right to ask me for a sample.

-I will RP via thread or PM, whichever is your preference. Though if things between our characters are getting hot and heavy, we'll go to PM for obvious
reasons. Unless you prefer to fade to black, of course.

-9 times out of 10, I use character sheets. Every time I haven't, something goes wrong in the roleplay. Either I don't feel like I’m dealing with an interesting
enough character, or character personalities become hard to keep track of between RPs.. Something just always goes wrong. Unless you feel extremely confident
that you can portray your character properly without the use of a CS, expect to be filling one out. I tend not to go too in depth with these, but a few
paragraphs worth of appearance, personality and history never hurt anybody. Plus.. I kind of like having the reference.

-Please tell me if you're losing interest. I will do my best to do the same.

-I really like overpowered heroes and villains, regardless of context or setting.

-If you have an idea that you would like to suggest to me, feel free to do so. I really enjoy a lot of genres, from medieval fantasy to modern supernatural
to sci-fi political dramas. I'm not going to ignore you; I'll definitely hear you out. The ideas that are listed in this thread simply are what are going
through my head at this time in particular.

-I like OOC discussions. Even if it's just little stuff, I like them. So please, if you're not going to talk to me, don't apply.

-In addition to the last point, I enjoy building a setting, creating well developed characters, and pushing my writing abilities to their limits. I am
capable of playing as either gender of character, and I am capable of playing multiple characters with varying degrees of importance to the narrative.
My ideal partner is somebody who is also capable of doing these things, and enjoys pushing their creative boundaries and stepping out of their comfort
zone.

-If you're going to create a character sheet, talk about how interested you are in this idea for two weeks, make one post, and then disappear, I have absolutely
no interest in roleplaying with you, so don't apply. I know I’ve done this a few times myself, and regardless of how good or not good my reasoning behind
it was, it was just a dick move. Nobody likes having their time wasted. I'm not going to waste yours, please don't waste mine.

-I expect at least one post every 3-5 days. I'd be really happy if you could post daily, because I often can do so. But I understand that everyone's situation's
different, so I understand if you're not capable of doing that. However, once every three days is my limit. In the past I used a one post per week limit,
but the RP moves so slow that it's like pulling teeth. So... Yeah. If you can post once every three days, you'll make me a happy Dylan.

-If you’re interested in any of the plots of pairings below, PM me. If you post in the thread, I might miss it. PM is the optimal method of communication
for me.

-I reserve the right to update these rules as I see fit.

I’m absolutely fine with playing out a zombie apocalypse roleplay alongside any character of any background. I don’t care if you’re a former military badass or a genius mechanic, I’m just really craving some head-splitting action and existential angst. In the context of my ideal roleplay of this nature, I enjoy the idea of our characters having no pre-existing concepts of what a zombie is, similar to the walking dead. In distinct contrast to The Walking Dead’s mehods, I’m a much bigger fan of faster, stronger zombies in comparison to the slow, shambling idiotic types. I’m also not against the idea of “Special” mutated types of infected, not unlike the types of infected one would see in the Left 4 Dead series. Obviously, these are all negotiable aspects of the roleplay—I don’t in any way need any of these things to have fun with it. I’m totally open to the idea of other types of apocalypse as well. Demons invading a fantasy world, etc.

Please reach out to me via PM if you’re interested, we can discuss the details of the roleplay from there. 

Hope to hear from all of you soon.

[Paper Faces on Parade] Dylan x Early [18+]

Maximillian observed Clara carefully as she seemed to consider the proposition he’d put forth; from the outside looking in, it seemed as though all of her actions were deliberated in a sea of hesitation and self-doubt. He wasn’t sure as to why a woman such as herself would partake in an activity as social as the masquerade if her sole intentions were to quiver within the embrace of her tortured mind, but the choices that this strange woman had made in order to bring herself to this decision were the least of his concern. The thoughts that consumed his psyche as he watched her gently place her glass of wine beside its empty sibling fixated on the feeling of familiarity he felt toward her. She could certainly be considered attractive by many a man’s standards, but he was sure that the austere aura of nostalgia she exuded far surpassed that of a common fling. If he truly knew this woman as he felt he did, he gathered the distinct impression that the history they shared was far from a comfortable one. Her glimmering pupils remained completely fixated upon him, almost as if she was scrying into the darkest depths of his soul. Combined with the hesitation in her actions, her careful inspection of his appearance indicated that she, too felt the nagging claws of familiarity tearing at her mind. To Max, this interaction had suddenly become far more intricate than a conversation with a masked stranger. It had become increasingly obvious to him, at least, that the dance they would enjoy was more akin to two predators circling one another, doing their best to approximate their adversary’s weaknesses before the first strike. After allowing herself another brief moment to inspect his masked visage, the emerald-clad Clara gingerly slipped her fingers between his own, and allowed him to lead her toward the smooth tiles of the dance floor. As they began their approach, her soft, fragile shell of a voice gently kissed his ears as she responded to his spoken invitation.

“You'd be surprised,” As she spoke, the bemused Maximillian spared Clara a brief glance, and once again found her glittering hazel eyes firmly fixed upon his own dark emeralds. She was clearly devoted to her pursuits as concretely as he was to his own, and an easy going smile fixed itself upon his face as this fact made itself clear to him. This would prove to be a much more interesting evening than he originally anticipated.
“The lonely tend to be that way for their own reasons -- and you'll find that the same tend to have a plethora of stories in their isolation. Something had to be the
cause of their despair, no?” It was easy for Max to accept this statement at face value. Though mysterious in her own ways, it appeared that Clara was capable of brutal, direct honesty—even if phrased in a bit of a roundabout fashion. Under normal circumstances, it was overtly obvious that she had a credible, logical reason for keeping her feelings closed off from the outside world. Otherwise she’d have no reason to waste her evening by isolating herself from the enjoyment of the masquerade. The more this woman spoke, the more intriguing she became to him. As her chilly, delicate tones tickled his ear drums; the aura of familiarity which surrounded her masked features began to overwhelm the foundation of logic and rationality which maintained his calm exterior. As they reached the dance floor, Max hesitated for the briefest moment, and gazed deeply into Clara’s intense, hazel-rimmed pupils in an attempt to decipher who truly hid herself behind the mask of black lace.

"But, prey tell. What makes you think that I’d be willing to share such tales with a stranger?" As she finished speaking, Max capitalized on the opportunity which had been granted to him to gather his thoughts. He took a brief moment to place his hand upon her hip, place his right foot forward, and then began to lead Clara in an elegant, though simple waltz as the band started to play. His form was precise and carefully practiced, and his black and white footwear glimmered with a polished shine as they began to circle toward the center of the floor. Though it could not have been longer than fifteen consecutive seconds of silence on Maximillian’s part, his composure seemed to falter slightly as he took a moment to once again gaze deeply into Clara’s eyes. Though brief, as their eyes met, his own emerald framed pupils burned with raw curiosity and his lust for the truth. As another moment of quiet contemplation passed between them, Maximillian finally seemed to find his voice and respond to her innocent query.

“If I’m being completely honest… I’m not quite sure.” His statement was simple, purely logical, and came directly from his heart. However, he was far from finished speaking. Sparing himself the briefest instant to gaze upon the uncut emerald dangling from her neck, he felt as though he was beginning to connect the dots. For reasons that completely escaped his comprehension, the white-clad gentleman felt strangely sure that the cloak of familiarity which Clara wore resonated from his perception of the stone. It wasn’t the woman who wore it that captured his attention as he strolled along the party’s borders; it was this specific article of clothing. That emerald was sure to have a story, and Maximillion was intent on finding out just what it had to say—and more importantly, what it had to do with him.

“However, from a purely rational standpoint, is it not the intent of the masquerade to shed ourselves of our inhibitions and let caution fly to the wind?” Where Max had began his dance with a respectable amount of distance separating Clara and himself, with his next series of steps, he did his best to close the distance between them a bit more—but in a manner that was more protective than romantic. Rather, as he closed a small increment of the gap separating them, he focused his attention purely on the way the room’s ambient light reflected off of the emerald’s surface as they continued to spin about the floor. He then shifted his attention back toward Clara’s attentive hazel eyes, and spoke once further.

“Clearly, you have to be interested in my words to some extent. Otherwise, I’m sure you could have continued on with your night unabashed. As you say, the lonely tend to have a reason to be so—if you’re reason is as logical as I imagine it must be, it must have taken a great deal of curiosity to indulge a stranger such as myself to a dance. Perhaps it’s a confidant in which you seek?”

[Paper Faces on Parade] Dylan x Early [18+]

In all of Maximillians years upon the Earth, he had exchanged pleasantries with thousands of individuals. The man, though he didn’t look the part, had acquired a keen eye for detail that could rival even the most talented of mortal artists; a skill such as that has a variety of uses in a myriad of situations, but is especially useful during casual, nonchalant conversation. To Max, the first impression one gives to someone is potentially the most important step in cementing himself in their mind. In his experience, one only had a small window of opportunity to truly capture their target’s attention. This woman, isolating herself in the corner of the room, gazing into the distance while she swam in the sea of her memories… To the average individual, that window of opportunity; that moment in which her attention could be most easily aroused was virtually non-existent. To Maximillian, on the other hand, everything from the way he walked, to the graceful, melodious tenor of his voice oozed confidence and charisma. With the right tone of voice, the careful choice of one’s words, and the carefree nature of an eagle gliding on the wind, even someone who’s so obviously attempting to shut themselves away from reality can’t help but feel the seeds of intrigue germinate in their mind.

Unlike those thousands of conversations Maximillian had had a part in prior in his life, something about this first impression he was making felt… Off. He was unable to approximate whether it was her actions, his own, or something else entirely, but he was completely positive that this was a situation he did not expect to find himself involved in. Even the masquerade and its mysterious nature is predictable in some sense. Regardless of the masks and their presence, people meet, people pair up, they dance, and they leave in each other’s arms. But the aura which this woman created in his company was different to that of anyone else he’d spoken with throughout the entirety of his lifetime. Even to a man as attentive to detail as Maximillian, this stranger was an enigma. From the very moment she noticed his approach, her eyes had carefully began to appraise his appearance. Under most circumstances, this wouldn’t strike Max as unusual, if not for the look in those flickering hazel eyes as they travelled from the tip of his crown to the toe of his cape—metaphorically, of course. The way her body remained tense, yet only relaxed slightly upon the utterance of his request intrigued him even further, and she held onto her words for long enough to create the briefest of silences; That momentary hesitation was enough of a sign for Maximillian to understand that this woman definitely felt the same odd feeling that currently bubbled in his gut.

"I suppose when a glass of wine is being held for ransom, a girl can't quite refuse, now can she?”

Her voice was soft, barely louder than a whisper, and it carried a rough edge of uneasy chilliness that completely contrasted the statement she had made. When someone speaks in that manner, their tone is often flirtatious; Curious, playful, even anticipatory in its utterance. This woman had absolutely no intention of masking her message. If not for the strange feeling arcing between them, this woman clearly would have had no intention to exchange words with him. It was that, and that alone that motivated Maximillian to pursue the conversation further. The fires of curiosity had been lit within his mind, and he would not rest until those fires were extinguished. With a careful, curious tilt of her masked visage, she placed her empty glass upon the table and spoke further.

"The name's Clara…" She began, tucking a caramel curl behind an ear. “And might I ask of your own, or will you hold that for ransom as well?”

“An intriguing name for an intriguing lady.” Maximillian replied smoothly, his elegant tenor carrying a tinge of curiosity as he spoke. He paused for a moment to lean his cane against the wall, then turned his attention back toward Clara with a fraction of a smile upon his masked visage. “Maximillian. It’s a pleasure, Ms. Clara.” His smile broadened slightly as he finished speaking, and he took a small step closer to her as he graciously extended his left arm, promised glass of wine in hand.

“I truly hate to interrupt your evening, but I couldn’t help but notice the gloomy clouds hovering over this corner of the room. Little did I suspect I’d discover a glistening emerald, all by her lonesome.” What was once a polite smile upon his lips had casually morphed into a more sarcastic one as Max embraced his inner poetic spirit, and with a small, genuine chuckle he offered Clara his right hand.

“I must warn you, I tend to be an absolutely unbearable conversationalist. You best rid yourself of me now before I have the opportunity to bore you to death.” He maintained the slight sarcasm in his voice as he spoke, but paused for a moment as he concluded, waving his left arm toward the couples twirling and whirling on the dance floor before he continued.

“But if you think you can tolerate a stuffy bastard such as myself, I’d be delighted to take you for a spin upon the tiles. A lady like yourself is bound to have an interesting story or two.”

[Paper Faces on Parade] Dylan x Early [18+]

The concept of fate is a fickle one. From the very moment a life comes into existence, its path is spontaneous, erratic, and unpredictable. Mortality has few absolutes; a life is created, a life exists, and eventually, a life ends. This is the burden mortality bears upon its shoulders. The very foundation of existence lacks a fundamental purpose. A life which is incapable of deciphering the chaotic inferno that is reality barely exists at all. With a sentient mind, a life can manipulate its existence. Conscience allows one to grasp the fragments of reality, and sculp them into one’s own individual identity. Thus, fate is fluidic in nature. There is no predetermined destiny for any individual life; the only absolutes are its genesis, and its eventual destruction. Thus is the beauty of sentience; ‘Tis the key which opens the mortal mind to possibility.

However, it is only in death that a sentient mind can truly achieve enlightenment.

Before… He had lived his life without purpose. A surf in the fields, plowing away at the stony, unforgiving soil of life. There was a family, a dream—--A hope for a better future. However, his goal was not his own. In death, he was given the opportunity to truly experience the life which he rightly deserved; the life promised to all whom thirst for the truth. In death, he found power. That power became his identity. Where once he was a marionette, dancing upon the strings of fate, he was now the puppeteer. The strings which formerly bound him were now clutched firmly between his fingertips. No more would he bend the knee to the absolutes of mortality. His destiny was his own.

Maximillian Parkes was born without the ability to choose. His father, a farmer by trade, was a member of the lowest class in civilized society. A mere peasant by blood, the young boy’s life was predestined. His father, grandfather, and great-grandfather had all lived by the horse and plow, and had done so from the moment their ancestors claimed the land in which their meager home was built upon. As the eldest of six, he was expected to take up the plantation upon his father’s passing, take a wife, father a large family of his own, and pass the trade on to future generations. In spite of the reality which he had been born into, Max was the quiet, intellectual and studious sort; much to his father’s disappointment, his eldest was not the master of sickle and hoe that his younger brothers were. Thus, the boy’s days were filled with back-breaking labor, and the miserable dreams of what his life could have been without his father’s influence.

With every swing of his scythe in the wheat fields, his resentment steadily grew. Every insult, curse, and proclamation of uselessness shouted at his back fueled the churning fire of anger that dwelled within his core. He could not stand to slave away in the fields in this manner any longer. He could not form a livelihood for a family by digging around in grime and stone. For as long as he was forced to beat himself bloody upon his father’s fields, the man would never see him take a wife. Maximillian would have rather seen the barn set ablaze before enslaving a woman to an existence of servitude. Knowing full well he was powerless against the opposition of his father, he resigned himself to his misery; forcing himself to trudge Along in the muck and mire so they could scrape together enough to survive the next winter. It was only upon the harvest season of his nineteenth year when an event occurred which took his life down an unexpected path.

The day was much like any other. The September sun shone with a brilliant shimmering gold, and the harvest season was in full swing. Maximillian’s farm was a flurry of harvesting, storing, and preparing crops for transport to the local markets, and a thick layer of sweat dripped off of his brow as he drove his pitchfork into the massive pile of hay before his weary gaze. The activity, as it usually was, became monotonous and boring rather quickly, and he began to day dream about building his own library before he was shocked back into reality. Sudden, explosive pain jettisoned itself through the young man’s skull as he felt something heavy impact the back of his head, and before he could so much as groan or gasp in surprise, he was being lifted back onto his feet by his disgruntled looking father.

“The wagon’s ready boy, make yourself useful for once in your life. Bring it to Elijah down at the old market. Be sure you don’t come back without every damned penny that old fool has to offer. If you aren’t back by sundown, you can be sure that I’ll skin you alive before I drag you back to your mother for an apology.”

Max knew better than to respond to the man’s provocations. Without wasting a moment of time, he hastily climbed to his feet, dusted himself off, and took off in a dead-man’s sprint toward the barn. As he ran, he didn’t dare spare his father a glance backward, lest another strike from the man’s cudgel be something he looked forward to in his future. His younger brothers had already readied the horses, and Maximillian took full advantage of the fact by hopping aboard the wagon full of crops without breaking his stride. A soft whinney met his ears as he took up the reigns, and with a snap of their leather and a softly spoken command, he was off toward town. It was nary an hour or two’s ride from his homestead, and the young man never hesitated to get out from under his father’s tyrannical rule, even for just a moment. Little did he realize just how unpredictable his journey would prove to be.

The ride along the well-travelled road went without issue. Before the young Max had time to so much as blink, he hastily stabled the horses, shoveled two armfuls of crops out of the wagon, and started to make his rapid trips from the wagon, to Elijah’s storehouse, and back again. After several hours work, he’d finally managed to empty out the whole of the wagon’s contents, and he was free to ready the horses and make his way back toward his home. The sun had began to sink low in the sky, and Maximillian paled slightly as he gave his team a quick snap of the reigns; If he didn’t hurry, he would surely face his father’s wrath upon his arrival. God forbid the man discover that he had somehow torn the canvas on the wagon’s covering whilst he unloaded the goods. He could feel the man’s hunk of oak slamming into his cheek at the mere thought of the nearly invisible gash upon the damned thing. Though before he had time to consider his father’s corporal punishment further, something strange happened.

The horses suddenly reared upward, throwing their hooves toward an invisible assailant in the tree line. They began to cry and scream in abject terror as Maximillian frantically attempted to calm the agitated animals, but they didn’t obey a single of his commands, and outright refused to cooperate whatsoever. The young farmhand noted that this sort of behavior was distinctly unlike the old steeds he’d come to know and love, but deep in his thoughts he knew he hadn’t the time to dwell upon such nonsense. The more the horses kicked and bucked in their harnesses, the more the wagon, and by proxy, Maximillian jolted about the side of the road. Before he could gather his thoughts enough to jump off of the rickety wooden cart, the young man found himself thrown off of his perch and into the tree line. His body came to rest after he slammed head-first into a sturdy looking oak, and he felt bile bubbling in the back of his throat as he attempted to crack his eyelids open. His vision was a haze of stars and light, and the more he attempted to discern any details of his would-be assailant, the more nautious he felt. As suddenly as he was thrown off of the cart, he felt a set of small, cold hands wrap themselves about his collar and yank him back to his feet. Though his vision was starting to clear, the only distinguishing feature Maximillian could lay his eyes upon was the sight of a woman’s long, luxurious brown mane blowing gently in the evening wind. He attempted to blink the stars out of his vision once further, but it was to no avail. He struggled against his unusually strong attacker with all of his strength, but as he began to slip himself out of his captor’s vice-like grasp
, he felt a sharp, burning pain resonate through the length of his body.

Then, there was darkness.

“Boy…”

Consciousness suddenly returned to Maximillian as he heard a man’s voice echoing through the forest. The sun had long since set, and there wasn’t a trace of the brown-haired vixen whom had knocked him around. But he felt… Strange. He heard the man continue to call out in search of someone, but the sound didn’t quite register in his brain as speech; where the strong, deep voice would’ve once inflicted fear in him, Maximillian was consumed by the strangest sense of urgency. Every ounce of his body was screaming out in lustful desire; though for what, the farmhand was not certain. As if in a trance, he felt himself rise to a standing position, and forced his gaze toward the distant man’s voice. Mindlessly, as if by his body’s own desire, he began to stalk slowly through the trees back toward the scene of his accident. As he approached, an incredibly pungent metallic aroma coated the interior of Maximilian’s nostrils; as the scent registered in his mind, the young man felt the edges of his consciousness begin to darken. His thoughts were sluggish and his emotions started to run rampant—it was as if he couldn’t control his thoughts. He suddenly became distinctly aware of the throbbing ache of hunger within his core as he reached the road, and he froze mid-step as he spotted a man in thick wool trousers searching through the remains of his wagon. The stranger began to angle his head in Max’s direction to speak, but the young farmhand’s body and mind began to act of their own accord as the man’s voice boomed out toward him.

“What do you think yo-“

Before he could finish his angry outburst, Max was upon him like a starved animal. With super-human strength and speed, the farmhand crossed the gap between them in a single bound, leaping directly into the unsuspecting interloper’s chest, hands forward and jaws agape. Driven by the emotionless desire to consume, Maximillian pinned his prey against the bottom of the up-turned wagon and drove one of his knees directly into the man’s stomach. Bones crackled under the ferocious impact of the strike, and before the man could so much as scream in terror, the starved man clamped his jaws around the interloper’s throat and bit down with as much strength as he could muster. Maximillian groaned in exaltation as the man’s sweet, sweet life nectar began to fill him like a balloon, but it seemed that only an instant had passed before the corpse had been sucked completely dry. The farmhand basked in the afterglow if his meal for a brief moment, trying his hardest to milk every last drop out of the man’s corpse; It was then when it occurred to him just what he had done. Sickened and absolutely horrified by his actions, Maximillian stumbled backward slightly, dropping the stranger’s corpse as he back peddled toward the trees on the other side of the road. What… Had he done? He was a damned monster. His back peddling finally brought him against the gnarled surface of an ancient willow tree, and in that moment, the clouds overhead parted to reveal a full moon, red as the blood which he had gorged himself upon. Now scared, shaken, and alone, Maximillian tore his gaze away from the moon and allowed it to return to his fallen prey, only to immediately feel the contents of his stomach churning at the sight he beheld.

Bloodless and decrepit upon the ground lay his father, broken and beaten with the gaze of sheer, unfiltered terror plastered upon his visage.

As Maximillian realized the man’s eyes were squarely fixed upon his own, he couldn’t help but notice an odd feeling of warmth travelling along the length of his spine. Before he knew it, a smile lightly tugged at the corners of his crimson stained cheeks, and his breaths began to become shallow and quick. Finally, a light chuckle began to leak out of his grinning visage, which quickly morphed into a loud, hearty laugh which caused the birds to leap out of their homes in the nearby foliage.

He was free.

#

“Sir?”

It was at that moment that Maximillian realized that he’d been staring out of the nearest window upon the visage of the full moon for an unusually long moment. It was a pleasant memory, to be sure; though not in the way most individuals find a situation pleasant. It wasn’t the events that transpired in which he found so satisfying, but the meaning he was able to derive from the circumstance all these centuries later. It was his transformation that truly allowed him to blossom into the man he was today. If not for that mysterious mop of chocolate colored hair distracting his horses, he would have died centuries earlier.

“Sir, are you feeling well?” The lilting feminine voice queried once further. Maximillian took a moment to finish off his scotch, then ran a hand down the crimson fabric of his tie, smoothing it out against his chest

“My apologies, m’lady. If you could kindly excuse me for a moment, I feel the urge to find another beverage. I’ll return to you before you have time to admire me from afar.” With that being said, Maximillian turned his attention toward the myriad of couples dancing along the floors without giving his feminine company so much as a passing glance. Not wishing to stain his pristine white Armani, he clung to the edges of the room until he managed to find his way to the bar. He tapped his white cane against the floor idly as he approached, and ordered himself three fingers of single malt scotch to enjoy at his leisure. It seemed as though he had a taste for the finer things on this eve, and he would be sure to indulge his desires to the fullest extent possible within this ignorant mass of masked imbeciles. Not a moment after he put his request forward, Maximillian’s emerald eyes twinkled with mirth at the appetizing sight of the caramel-colored spirit. Giving his drink a thoughtful sip, he adjusted his mask into a more comfortable position whilst simultaneously shifting the personally tailored jacket upon his broad shoulders. . Black lace was simple, yet held some sort of deceptive elegance that the tall gentleman couldn’t help but enjoy. Though the concept of the masquerade itself was a bit tacky, he couldn’t help but allow the smallest hint of a smile to stretch across his face. He had the distinct feeling that it was going to be an incredibly interesting night.

After sparing himself another moment to watch the crowd of dancers from the safety of the bar, Maximillian took it upon himself to locate his first round of entertainment for the night. He began to tap his cane lightly along the surface of the floor as he deftly dodged the incoming crowd of party goers. For the first few moments, nothing appeared to catch his eye. There were the usual giggling women of class, the boastful, selfish lot of businessmen, and of course, the attendees whom were already far too deep into their cups for one night. But as he made another tour of the room’s edge on his way back toward the bar, a single woman in particular caught his eye. Her dark, curly hair was styled up in quite the elaborate fashion, and the emerald silks of her dress did much to accentuate the green of her eyes. Though he only was able to glance in her direction from the corner of his vision, it wasn’t her outfit or hair that caught his eye; At least, it wasn’t her dress. It was the unusual nature of the necklace she wore. To him, it seemed familiar, but he couldn’t quite place its origins upon first inspection. Had he spent time in this woman’s company before? Had he seen a similar type of necklace upon another woman in his past? Rather than keep himself locked within his own thoughts for the night, the cane-wielding gentleman took it upon himself to take action. What could one dance possibly hurt? Besides… Curiosity couldn’t kill this cat. After a quick check of the red rose upon his lapel, he continued his casuals tried toward the bar.

Rather than approach her directly with no specific motives, the wealthy entrepreneur within Maximillian’s psyche urged him not to walk in her direction without good reason. He noticed that she had been nursing a drink to herself for quite a while, and concluded that she must have been running low by this point in the night. Regardless, he knew that it would most likely be the best strategy he could come up with on short notice; Other than the direct approach, of course. He paid another short visit to the bar to retrieve a glass of their finest dry red, and then topped off his scotch once further before swallowing his pride and striding across the room toward the woman whom had so curiously captured his attention. As he reached her, he allowed himself a quick bow in her direction before giving her a relaxed smile.

“Good evening, Madame. This one was curious as to whether you would be available for the next dance. In exchange for the finest red at the house’s disposal, of course.” As he spoke, he placed his scotch upon a nearby table before running his fingers through his short, thick black locks. His recent change into a shorter, more utilitarian hair style had been well appreciated by many among the crowd so far. He could only hope that this one wasn’t a fan of men with longer hair.

Mist's Bounty ( M seeking all, Ignore post count. Open. 18+

Bump

Mist's Bounty ( M seeking all, Ignore post count. Open. 18+

Added several plots to the "Plots/Pairings" section

Mist's Bounty ( M seeking all, Ignore post count. Open. 18+

(OPEN TO ALL APPLICANTS)

Hello there! Thanks for clicking on my thread, I seriously appreciate it.

Before I get started with the finer details of the idea(s) I have in mind, I'd like to tell you a little bit about myself. I always find that doing so seems to give people a rough idea of our compatibility as roleplayers. Plus, come on. We all like to talk about ourselves a little bit-- Even if we don't like to admit it all that often.

SPOILER ALERT: This is probably going to be a long post. Sorry in advance.

Me, myself, and I

-I'm 21
-I’m Male
-I'm a university student in the Northeastern United States (Eastern Standard Time, GMT -5)
-I study marketing. Because reasons.
-I have a 1 and 1/2 year old daughter. She's pretty fucking cool for a toddler, too.
-I love video games, and anything that involves them. Especially RPGs, fighting games, strategy games, and things with a really heavy and detailed story. (This will be really confusing later on)
-I love anime. Particularly Naruto, Bleach, Yu Yu Hakusho, Rurouni Kenshin, Fullmetal Alchemist, and a little bit of Gundam for flavor. However, these are not the only anime I’m into. If you have a particular favorite, just ask if I've watched-- I probably have.
- dungeons and dragons is my bread and butter.

- I am legally blind. Yes, the kind of blind which involves me not being able to see the computer screen, or my TV. You may be asking, "But wait... How do you play video games? How are you even using this computer? Are you real??" The answer is... Pretty unamusing, honestly. Except for the gaming. So please be patient and I’ll get to that in a second.

I lost my vision around 8 years ago to a mitochondrial condition known as Leber's Hereditary Optic Neuropathy (LHON). It's a ridiculously rare and ridiculously complex condition that, in its simplest terms, caused me to lose vision in both of my eyes over a period of around 6-7 months. This all occurred during my last year of middle school, so throughout high school, in addition to doing all of the normal high school stuff, I learned how to navigate using a cane, read Braille, and a few other neat tricks that help me survive. For example, I'm using this computer right now with the assistance of a program known as JAWS 16.0. JAWS stands for Job Access With Speech, but I prefer to think that it's not an acronym, and that a digital shark is guiding me through the internet.

Oookay, so that answers that question. But you still probably wonder how I play video games. (Or you don't care...) Either way, I'll explain that really quick so I don't have to later on. With some games it's more complicated than this, but with most games I simply learn the pattern of the menus, learn where all of the selectable characters are located, memorize their combos/controls/special moves.... I think you get where I’m going with this. I literally memorize EVERY ASPECT OF THE GAME and do my best to play it from memory. Results vary, but for the most part I do pretty well. Especially with fighting games. (And I mea nlike.. Actually playing them, not just hitting buttons like a spaz.) I can play other games too, but my process is entirely dependent upon the game that I’m playing, and the structure of the game in question. It's not like I can play battlefield or call of duty. I'm not that lucky.

But I think I’ve talked enough about this. Let's get to the good stuff now.

Roleplaying Preferences and Guidelines

-If you're not 18, I’m not going to be all that comfortable roleplaying with you. Sorry. That's probably the one rule I’m not willing to negotiate.

-All guild rules apply. Because we all want to be cool, like the Fonz

-I enjoy dark themes. intense violence, blood, gore, drug use, the works. I'm also cool with other mature themes, like sex. I'm pretty much limitless in this regard.

- I am blind; therefore pictures are pretty useless to me. If you're going to describe your character's appearance with a picture, you're in the wrong place. That kind of stuff doesn't fly with me for obvious reasons. Just do your best to type out an appearance section in your character sheet. Preferably a paragraph or two.

-I write at an advanced level. I expect you to do so as well. I will request a sample of your writing if I feel so inclined, and you hold the same privilege. If you think I’m bullshitting you, you're fully within your right to ask me for a sample.

-I will RP via thread or PM, whichever is your preference. Though if things between our characters are getting hot and heavy, we'll go to PM for obvious reasons. Unless you prefer to fade to black, of course.

-9 times out of 10, I use character sheets. Every time I haven't, something goes wrong in the roleplay. Either I don't feel like I’m dealing with an interesting enough character, or character personalities become hard to keep track of between RPs.. Something just always goes wrong. Unless you feel extremely confident that you can portray your character properly without the use of a CS, expect to be filling one out. I tend not to go too in depth with these, but a few paragraphs worth of appearance, personality and history never hurt anybody. Plus.. I kind of like having the reference.

-Please tell me if you're losing interest. I will do my best to do the same.

-I really like overpowered heroes and villains, regardless of context or setting.

-If you have an idea that you would like to suggest to me, feel free to do so. I really enjoy a lot of genres, from medieval fantasy to modern supernatural to sci-fi political dramas. I'm not going to ignore you; I'll definitely hear you out. The ideas that are listed in this thread simply are what are going through my head at this time in particular.

-I like OOC discussions. Even if it's just little stuff, I like them. So please, if you're not going to talk to me, don't apply.

-In addition to the last point, I enjoy building a setting, creating well developed characters, and pushing my writing abilities to their limits. I am capable of playing as either gender of character, and I am capable of playing multiple characters with varying degrees of importance to the narrative. My ideal partner is somebody who is also capable of doing these things, and enjoys pushing their creative boundaries and stepping out of their comfort zone.

-If you're going to create a character sheet, talk about how interested you are in this idea for two weeks, make one post, and then disappear, I have absolutely no interest in roleplaying with you, so don't apply. I know I’ve done this a few times myself, and regardless of how good or not good my reasoning behind it was, it was just a dick move. Nobody likes having their time wasted. I'm not going to waste yours, please don't waste mine.

-I expect at least one post every 3-5 days. I'd be really happy if you could post daily, because I often can do so. But I understand that everyone's situation's different, so I understand if you're not capable of doing that. However, once every three days is my limit. In the past I used a one post per week limit, but the RP moves so slow that it's like pulling teeth. So... Yeah. If you can post once every three days, you'll make me a happy Dylan.

-If you’re interested in any of the plots of pairings below, PM me. If you post in the thread, I might miss it. PM is the optimal method of communication for me.

-I reserve the right to update these rules as I see fit.

Still with me? Ok. Cool. I'll put down the pulp fiction kit.

The Background

"Among all of mankind's creations throughout history, the metropolis is the sentient mind's greatest success. At its basest, it is the conglomeration of all of a species' foremost endeavors; A city feeds. A city shelters. A city protects. Above all else, a city graces its denizens with the gift of opportunity-- That opportunity being the ability to pursue greatness. Not only for oneself, but for one's family and peers."

"In a way, a metropolis is a reflection of the sentience which exists within its boundaries. A city consumes. A city grows. A city expands its influence. And inevitably, much like the sentient minds which carved the metropolis into existence, a city shrinks. A city ages. A city dies."

"However, Mist's Bounty is no ordinary metropolis. Much like our forefathers who erected its mighty walls, this city carries in it the blazing embers of mankind's determination. When the flames of prosperity are extinguished, the hopes of the sentient transform those embers into a churning fire-- One which burns with more heat than the likes of the hells themselves. No force which exists upon our world is capable of extinguishing that sort of tumultuous inferno. You would do well to remember that in your coming days as king."

-The words of King Ardik Fernaval, spoken to his eldest son, Prince Ventice

Troubled times have fallen upon the northern city-state known as Mist's Bounty. Our story begins with the sprawling metropolis finding itself locked between the armies of its quarreling neighbors, Saraphinia and Valtorem. From the earliest days of the political disagreement, Mist's Bounty has acted as nothing more than a neutral state. As a result, both Saraphinia and Valtorem have refrained from taking any sort of action against the metropolis-- most likely in an attempt to prevent the potential alienation of what would be a crucial ally in the conflict to come. The economically powerful city-state is located within the jagged and dangerous Snowspear Mountains, which act as the central border between the quarreling powerhouses whom dominate human politics. King Ardik Fernaval, crowned monarch of Mist's Bounty was faced with a polarizing reality for his kingdom. He could choose to side with the Feudalistic, Nationalist inclined Saraphinia, or the Imperialistic, militaristic, and power-hungry Valtorem. Regardless of his selection, his decision would invite one of the two largest military forces in society to lay siege upon his humble city's walls. Though a troubling development to be sure, King Ardik of Mist's Bounty would soon find that the whispers of war on the horizon were the least of his city's concerns.

In the months preceding the news of the conflict, crime within Mist's Bounty steadily began to escalate; Not only in volume, but in intensity. Though the guard is numerous and well-trained, the city's problems with violence, bribery, and thievery continue to compound themselves as time marches onward. Rumors of organized crime syndicates drifted silently through the city's streets and taverns as the militia scrambled to control the escalating conflict, but all efforts seemed to inevitably fall apart at the seams as violent crimes became increasingly prevalent. When news of the coming conflict between Saraphinia and Valtorem reached the walls of Mist's Bounty, it seemed as though all hell had broken loose. The citizenry became terrified for their futures. Merchants in the upper class increased prices sharply in anticipation of the coming warfare, and the supply of goods became scarce as a result of rationing policies put in place by King Ardik and his administration. Though the wealthy elite find it easy to survive in such conditions, the common man is placed at a distinct disadvantage to his more privileged brothers. In the context of Mist's Bounty and its current predicament, the rich continue to build their wealthy empires, and the poor continue to bleed themselves dry in an attempt to make ends meet. However, the embers of determination yet remain within the hearts of the common populous. Some citizens in particular have made the choice to take the city's fate into their own hands, and attempt to influence it's events for themselves. Some have naught but the most righteous intent. Others plan only to line their pockets with coin as the walls collapse and burn.

How exactly will the tale of Mist's Bounty unfold? Only time will tell.

Mist's Bounty

[AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the city where I imagine most of my ideas taking place. Of course, its name, location, and the names of its neighbors are completely tentative. They're just what I came up with for the time being.]

Nestled within a valley betwixt the high, windy peaks of the Snowspear mountains lay the humble city-state of Mist's Bounty. Named for the thick blankets of misty fog that envelop the metropolis for the majority of the year, the city functions more like a sovereign nation than a mere city. It's a populous and prosperous place with no shortage of natural resources, and its main exports are stone, coal, precious metals, iron, and luxury products. Much of the city-state's food is produced locally using a combination of greenhouses, the careful breeding of livestock, and the use of plentiful and rich soil gathered from a vast network of subterranean hot springs. Most of the common folk are miners, farmers, artisans and craftsman, whilst the wealthier portion of society often makes its living off of trade, magical services such as enchanting, and financial services, like banking.

Its governmental body is overseen by a monarch and their royal family, though it operates in several layers. The lowest level is that of the local council, which tends to the affairs of specific subsections of the city. Above the local council is the Congregation, which consists of elected representatives from each subsection of the city meeting to discuss matters which concern Mist's Bounty and its surrounding land as a whole. Lastly, above the Congregation is the Senate, where democratically elected political servants discuss matters of policy with the ruling monarch, and assist him or her in dealing with matters which concern lands outside of Mist's Bounty's jurisdiction.

All in all, Mist's Bounty is the picturesque embodiment of human accomplishment. Its massive walls and titanic towers create an impressive spectacle for invading armies to behold, but it's mineral-rich hot springs and beautiful greenhouses do well to embrace the metropolis in an aura of tranquil power. Ever expanding and developing, one can only imagine how much further the fortress city's borders will lengthen in the ages to come.

Plots/Pairings

NOTE: I am capable of playing as either role in any of these pairings. Pick your favorite. In addition, the majority of the following plots are centered in the city of Mist's Bounty, unless otherwise indicated. Details on its neighbor nations of Saraphinia and Valtorem have been left intentionally vague as to facilitate character building and other things of that nature. All of these roles can be filled by either male or female characters, and romance is possible in any of these pairings if you're interested in that type of character dynamic.

The Thieving Feline

Pairing: Thief X Assassin/ Bounty Hunter

Genre(s): Drama, Suspense, Mystery, Action

As the sun continues its endless rise and fall, the plight of the common man expands in its intensity. Families work themselves raw and bloody, and wealthy merchants continue to profit off of their suffering. Where miners could once feed their families for days with a full--week's hard work, they struggle to make ends meet for even half of that in the wake of price increases. King Ardik and the parliament have imposed a new set of taxes in order to prepare the city's militia for open conflict with Saraphinia and Valtorem, and once prosperous mines and sawmills now find themselves dismissing dozens of workers in the wake of similar tax hikes. . The poor are faced with the likes of famine, pestilence and disease, and haven't the coin to so much as feed their families, let alone that of their struggling neighbors.

It goes without saying that the common man's life is a hard and solemn one. No matter how hard one worked, they found themselves slowly sinking into the pools of debt and despair as they watched their children starve. As the pestilence and suffering reached a crescendo of churning rage, whispers of revolution began to drift throughout the city's taverns and market stalls. These rumors were met with unexpected relief in the form of glimmering silver coins-- Not from the ruling family, but from an anonymous benefactor whom had delivered the bags of life-saving silver in the silence of the evening. Night after night, families whom had previously lost hope for survival woke to find their shimmering gift splayed across their kitchen tables, accompanied only by the hastily scrawled image of a black cat upon a cheap strip of parchment. Before the news of their mysterious savior began to circulate, the captain of the city guard presented himself before King Ardik, the senate, and his fellow guardsmen, and announced that a string of robberies had taken place within the Market, Temple, and Upper districts of Mist's Bounty. . Soon after the proclamation had been made, rumors of the mysterious Black Cat's gifts of silver coins rapidly spread amongst the city's populous. Unfortunately for the lower class, it didn't take long for the guard to point their fingers in the direction of the Black Cat, and before a week had passed, wanted posters proclaiming the entity's status as a fugitive had been posted on every street corner in Mist's Bounty. Even worse, the poor were now faced with a quandary. Were they to accept the nefarious gifts which could save their livelihoods? Or were they to attempt to capture the fugitive with their own hands in an attempt to grasp its lucrative bounty of 1,000 gold?

As the chilly days came and went, rumored sightings of the Black Cat leaping amongst rooftops and dashing through alleyways ran rampant throughout Mist's Bounty. The city guard increased its number of patrols, the wealthy began to hire elite mercenaries to protect their estates, and the heads of noble merchant families whom had been victims of the 'Abyssal Feline' boldly and publically declared their intent to mount the thief's head upon a pike. In spite of the entity's negative publicity, gifts in the form of gold and silver slipped themselves inside of the poorer denizen's homes; Usually alongside the now familiar artistic depiction of a grinning black cat. The elusive feline managed to avoid capture at every opportunity, and the elite members of Mist's Bounty's class of merchants began to put political pressure upon the legislature to apprehend the supposedly dangerous criminal. Now, even the likes of Mist's Bounty's militia are becoming involved in the manhunt, and noble households have begun to contract bounty hunters and assassins from outside of the city-state in order to deal with their new problem efficiently and decisively. One such bounty hunter would soon have an extremely close encounter with this deceptive thief, and it will fall upon their shoulders to deal with him as they see fit.

TL;DR: War is on the horizon, and as a result, the upper class is doing their best to profit off of the poor's suffering. The king seems as though he's pretty much ignorant to it, and a mysterious thief colloquially known as the Black Cat has supposedly been breaking into homes and businesses within the wealthier districts of Mist's Bounty, robbing them blind, and giving all of their riches to the poor. The robberies soon become enough of an issue that the city's upper class begins to put pressure on their elected representatives to place the suspect into custody, and the senate's response is to mobilize the city militia, dump more funding into the city guard, and do their best to capture the Black Cat before anyone else is harmed. After a 1,000 gold bounty is placed upon the thief's head, rich merchants and other business owners started the trend of hiring private contractors to deal with the Black Cat themselves.

Your character would be one such contractor. Either a bounty hunter who's attempting to take the thief in alive, an assassin who is trying to bring the Cat's corpse to the King, or anything in between. Whether they are from Mist's Bounty or not is of little concern to me, but I will say that the rest of this world is completely open for creation. If you have the perfect idea for a character, and a nation that they come from, feel free to go into detail-- I love world building. Though I prefer to play as the Black Cat myself, I'm just as interested in the prospect of seeing how somebody else would craft a thief's back-story. Are they somebody who's attempting to help the poor? Are they somebody who's trying to become extremely rich? Or are they something else entirely?

Moonlight Dance

Pairing: Assassin x Assassin

Genre(s): Action, Suspense, Thriller

War is on the horizon for the denizens of Mist’s Bounty. Tensions between Saraphinia and Valtorem have reached a boiling point. As these two military juggernaughts begin to mobilize their armies and prepare for battle, it is inevitable that the citizens of King Ardik’s neutral state will suffer in the ensuing conflict. The Snowspear mountains are tall, jagged, and near-impassable, and Mist’s Bounty is located directly within the heart of the treacherous mountain range. The only safe path through the Snowspears is along the well-travelled ridges and roads which the hardy people of the city-state carved into the mountains over hundreds of years. The city’s geographic location is it’s greatest blessing, as well as it’s greatest curse. It allows the merchants, artisans, and woodsmen whom call the Snowspears home to create a prosperous life for themselves by trading with Saraphinia and Valtorem respectively. It is thanks to the citizens of Mist’s Bounty that caravans are even capable of travelling through the Snowspears at all; If not for the roads which the people’s ancestors had built, communication and trade between the two nations would be near-impossible. However, these conditions only exist when Saraphinia, Valtorem, and Mist’s Bounty maintain civil relations with one another. With the ever-present reality of the encroaching war placing pressure upon the nations’ ruling class, the elite have been forced to take extreme measures to ensure their people’s survival.

It has become clear to Mist’s Bounty’s neighbors that King Ardik, his administration, and his citizenry have no intention of declaring allegiance to either Saraphinia or Valtorem. Several of the city-state’s local leaders have become outspoken supporters of placing economic sanctions upon their war-hungry neighbors, and as a result, both Saraphinia and Valtorem’s governments have decided to take matters into their own hands. Blinded by their hatred of the enemy, and their lust for bloodshed, the leaders of the quarreling nations have silently decided to remove King Ardik and his supporters from the equation altogether. Unbeknownst to their enemy, both Saraphinia and Valtorem have arranged multiple assassinations—but not against their rivals. The targets they have in mind are that of Mist Bounty’s most influencial traders, craftsmen, miners, healers, and politicians. Both nations wish to replace their vocal opposition with politicians whom will be more cooperative with their own respective war strategies. Obviously enough, if word were to spread of the existence of assassins stalking through the streets of Mist’s Bounty, panic would spread throughout the citizenry like a virus. Only the best could make their employer’s dream a reality.

Hitmen were hired, and targets were designated. Two of the most skilled assassins to ever exist upon the face of the planet had been hired by opposing countries to assassinate some of the most influencial figures in Mist’s Bounty. Business was business, and the job paid well. Unfortunately for this duo of killers, they would soon find their list of targets to be remarkably similar—identical, even. It would soon become rapidly apparent to them both that this contract would be the most difficult venture they had ever undertaken.

TL;DR: The basic rundown of this idea is simple. Two assassins have been hired by opposing countries to kill influencial figures within Mist’s Bounty. Wealthy merchants, high-ranking politicians, officers in the militia, even members of the royal family and King Ardik himself are targets on the killers’ respective lists. However, the assassins are forced into confrontation with one another throughout the length of their contracts. Each individual assassination becomes a competition between the killers, and I want the RP to focus more on the relationship between the assassins that develops alongside their confrontations with one another rather than the assassinations themselves. I feel as though that there’s a lot of room for this idea to grow, and I’m really interested in pursuing this pairing in particular.

Pest Control

NOTE: This is a plot that is not exclusively centered in Mist's Bounty. However, we can use the city as a starting point for the adventure if you're so inclined.

Pairing: Monster Hunter x Wizard/Sorceress/Monster Hunter

Genre(s): Action, Adventure, Military, and Romance (if applicable)

The world of Trinity, like most, is a world filled with all manner of oppurtunity. Vast, untamed fields, undiscovered ruins of ancient and powerful civillizations, and a plethora of gold, silver, and platinum to stack along the way. This oppurtunity is quick to blind the feeble with visions of greed and grandeur, but it is wise to remind oneself that with great oppurtunity comes even greater danger. Many folk, whether elven, dwarven, gnome, human, orc, or any species in between, have attempted to capitalize upon the world's plentiful oppurtunities with varying results. The powerful slay the dangerous creatures which obstruct the path of advancement, but the treacherous beasts which exist upon the face of Trinity far outnumber the humans, elves, dwarves, gnomes, and orcs whom wish to establish themselves upon the world's frontier. As a result, there exists a miriad of work for the strong-bodied men and women whom wish to benefit their fellow sentient minds. The all-important work which I refer to is that of the monster hunter.

Where there are sentient minds, there are dangerous creatures which impede their progress. Goblins stalk the woodlands, ambushing travelling caravans and plundering their valuable wares. Ankhegs create vast tunnel systems under the feet of desert villages, collapsing and destroying them from the foundation up. Ogres cut a wide swoth of carnage through mountain villages, feasting on the corpses of fallen foes and taking settlements for themselves. Lizardfolk mercilessly attack any trespassers upon their swampy territory. Even the likes of ancient dragons soar through the skies, subjugating entire civillizations for no greater reason than their own amusement. These are only a few of the more common dangers which the weak are faced with on a day-to-day basis. If not for the invaluable efforts of the talented monster hunters which roam through the lands, the expansion of intelligent life's influence would come to a swift and decisive halt.

TL;DR: This is a pretty basic idea that i've developed alongside the world of Trinity. I'd like this roleplay to follow a duo of monster slayers, travelling from place to place, slaying miscellanious creatures for villagers in an attempt to make ends meet. This idea was inspired partially by The Witcher series, so one can likely expect to see a variety of monsters from a miriad of universes being included for us to slay. Minotaurs, centaurs, wyverns, dragons, ankhegs, vampires, werewolves, lizardfolk, trolls, ogres, even just plain old human bandits if there's no other work to be found. I think you get the idea. I'm totally willing to play with any type of character for this situation, so if you're interested, I'd love to work out the finer details of the plot as we create our characters. That way we have a more decisive goal to head toward instead of simply slaying things left and right.

The Precipice

Pairing: Warrior Guide x Unorthodox Royalty (sorceress princess, thief-prince, etc.)

Genre(s): Drama, Politics, Action, Adventure, Supernatural, Intrigue

NOTE: This idea does not take place exclusively within Mist's Bounty, but it takes place in the same universe.

Where there was once a great era of prosperity and peace among the denizens of Trinity, a great tension has begun to blossom and envelop the peaceful world in it's vice-like grasp. the two great military powers, Saraphinia and Valtorem are on the brink of open warfare, the silent desert nation of Wyfall has forbidden the passage of outsiders through their treacherous domain, and the peaceful empire of Evimeria has recently been overtaken by a spree of piracy and fierce competition which has threatened their intellectual and economic supremacy. As a result of this, the monarch of Evimeria, King Richard of the Burning Blade has been troubled by nightmares in recent weeks; images of demonic entities cutting down the innocent, and the nations of Trinity burning before humanity's helpless gaze. Consumed by the feeling that these dreams were a prediction of the future to come, King Richard sent an emmisary to the other leaders of the great human nations calling for a summit to negotiate the problems at hand.

None but Wyfall responded.

Prince Darrius Silverstar of Wyfall sent his champion as an emmisary to Evimeria, having been completely convinced that a letter would accomplish nothing but the waste valuable time. His champion was instructed only to maintain constant contact with Wyfall, and to do whatever King Richard required of him. But there was a catch; he was not to reveal his identity as Wyfall's champion, lest Richard arrange his capture in order to coax Wyfall's leadership out of their hiding place. With this fact in mind, he made haste to Evimeria’s capital city of Tribute with high hopes that his participation could make a difference in the conflict to come. Upon his admittance to the city, he would come to find that fate held a unique plan in mind for him and his future companion.

He spent his first evening in Tribute at a fairly unreputable tavern. It was well known for brawls, watered-down alcohol, and loose women ready to find their next conquest, but the champion was not in search of women or wine at this hour. He lusted after the savory flesh of information. He began to ask questions he should not have. Questions of Evimeria’s troubles with piracy, and questions of whether or not they felt threatened by their rival economic power, Moonfall. One irritated response led to another, and before the champion had realized, he had become mixed up in a brawl beyond what most would consider friendly or safe. A flurry of fists, an exchange of steel, and several broken tankards later, he was carried in chains to the palace by Evimeria's elite police force to undergo interrogation. He refused to answer so much as a single question, and before much time had passed, he was standing before the Burning Blade himself.

For the monarch, it was easy to identify the man as Wyfallin. From the superior craftsmanship of his weaponry, the design of his clothing, the careful cadence of his speech patterns, all of it was obvious and distinguishable to a king, and it was clear that the man was skilled. He swiftly came to the realization that a formal interrogation would not give him any strategic advantage, and made a gut decision which had the capability to morph the legal landscape of Trinity as a whole. He made the educated inference that no Wyfallin would willingly leave the desert on a simple journey of pleasure and relaxation, especially after consideration of the troubling times at hand. They were a secretive, serious, and deeply loyal group of people who would rather hide in the sand than face any sort of social interaction with outsiders. Richard's heart told him that this Wyfallin was important; too important to allow the man to slip out of his grasp. Richard took the man out of his bindings and escorted him to his personal chambers in order to maintain an atmosphere of privacy, and presented the champion with an offer he could not refuse.

Escort his daughter as a diplomatic emmisary to Wyfall, or be executed by Richard of the Burning Blade before a crowd of his loyal subjects. With this threat hanging over his head, the champion could do nothing but accept. Will the princess and champion be able to bring peace to the feuding empires? Or will they thrust Trinity into an unending war and force Richard's nightmares to become reality?

Pandora's Inheritance [Modern/Fantasy]

Hey all, I just wanted to let everyone know that I'm still here and have complete intent to post ASAP. It's just been a hell of a hectic week with college. Gotta love tests and research papers. I should be able to have something up by this weekend though, so apologies again for the wait.