I promise, she’ll become more interactive and communicative … once they’re out of port and once she starts to feel a little more comfortable with the surroundings.
EweDoughNo Member
- Last Seen: 5 days ago
- Joined: 8 mos ago
- Posts: 51 (0.22 / day)
- VMs: 0
-
Username history
- EweDoughNo 8 mos ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
Conquerorofsuns,
Fetzen,
Tally Dor,
rabidbacon,
Silent Showers,
ppppppppp,
Chronic,
TokyoPewPew,
Crimson Flame,
World Traveler
Status
User has no status, yet
Bio
User has no bio, yet
Most Recent Posts
Her tumultuous relief was contained behind a gracious bow. The slightest exhale of breath keyed Ayla in to the realization that she had momentarily been holding her apprehension in her lungs. She glanced upward to the ship and smiled peacefully, the shine in her eyes fueled by a dewy surge that she blinked away with a flutter of lashes.
“Wonderful,” she whispered back and began her descent to the ferry.
Choosing a seat on the edge of the group, Ayla aimed to not interrupt the conversations in progress. Instead, she seated herself with her belongings tucked tidily into her lap and kept her eyes trained on her future. She listened in as this repeat voyager prattled details of previous ventures. The mention of dried flowers as snacks couldn’t be ignored and the elf’s smile cracked open enough to reveal the glint of her teeth. She thought she knew exactly which plants, at least which floral families, the group had collected.
Though she had not traveled beyond this territory in her life, she had been graced with a modicum of education that afforded her understanding of the flora beyond her usual gathering grounds. Immediately, she began to rifle through her mental catalogue and make shortlists for what she may be able to procure during a landing party on this venture.
Beyond the ultimate end goal of freedom ahead, Ayla was excited at the prospect of addicting to her repertoire of herbal experience. She knew most of the plants by sight, though she had not always collected some of the rarer and more distant varieties herself; for those, the Blackthornes had imported components to their supply. Even so, the elf had education enough to read the reference texts and had compiled the knowledge needed to do her own scouting once an opportunity presented itself.
Ayla marveled at the contraptions designed for hoisting what she presumed would serve as a lifeboat to the deck of the main ship. Of course she had seen her own share of mechanisms to ease large-scale projects, but the specific workings of maritime exploits were entirely foreign to her.
After dropping to the deck with the slightest audible hit of her weight pulled by a gravitational force, the lone traveler did not wander far. She walked along the perimeter of The Silver Wing’s airy space, running her fingers over the weathered wood of the railing at the edge. While she did not have the immediate connection to nature that her ancestors several generations back may have had, she enjoyed the supposition that she could feel the traces of life that once flowed through these felled timbers.
Without venturing far from the Quartermaster’s sight, should he decide it was time to have her name placed officially on some sort of roster, the elf meandered towards the bow of the ship as far as she was able. She pressed a palm to the foremast and prayed the trees would shade their venture with good fortune, apologizing for their altered circumstances, and promised she would worship their sacrifice. Upon reaching the bow, Ayla turned her face to the sky and breathed deeply the scent of salt, sweat, and adventure.
In a meditative state, she stood with upturned gaze, reveling in the feeling of the breeze about her shoulders and imagining the heartbeat of the wood beneath her fingers. She rested her hands lightly on the railing, communing with the elements themselves in this christening of her journey to a new, and at the same time old, life.
“Wonderful,” she whispered back and began her descent to the ferry.
Choosing a seat on the edge of the group, Ayla aimed to not interrupt the conversations in progress. Instead, she seated herself with her belongings tucked tidily into her lap and kept her eyes trained on her future. She listened in as this repeat voyager prattled details of previous ventures. The mention of dried flowers as snacks couldn’t be ignored and the elf’s smile cracked open enough to reveal the glint of her teeth. She thought she knew exactly which plants, at least which floral families, the group had collected.
Though she had not traveled beyond this territory in her life, she had been graced with a modicum of education that afforded her understanding of the flora beyond her usual gathering grounds. Immediately, she began to rifle through her mental catalogue and make shortlists for what she may be able to procure during a landing party on this venture.
Beyond the ultimate end goal of freedom ahead, Ayla was excited at the prospect of addicting to her repertoire of herbal experience. She knew most of the plants by sight, though she had not always collected some of the rarer and more distant varieties herself; for those, the Blackthornes had imported components to their supply. Even so, the elf had education enough to read the reference texts and had compiled the knowledge needed to do her own scouting once an opportunity presented itself.
Ayla marveled at the contraptions designed for hoisting what she presumed would serve as a lifeboat to the deck of the main ship. Of course she had seen her own share of mechanisms to ease large-scale projects, but the specific workings of maritime exploits were entirely foreign to her.
After dropping to the deck with the slightest audible hit of her weight pulled by a gravitational force, the lone traveler did not wander far. She walked along the perimeter of The Silver Wing’s airy space, running her fingers over the weathered wood of the railing at the edge. While she did not have the immediate connection to nature that her ancestors several generations back may have had, she enjoyed the supposition that she could feel the traces of life that once flowed through these felled timbers.
Without venturing far from the Quartermaster’s sight, should he decide it was time to have her name placed officially on some sort of roster, the elf meandered towards the bow of the ship as far as she was able. She pressed a palm to the foremast and prayed the trees would shade their venture with good fortune, apologizing for their altered circumstances, and promised she would worship their sacrifice. Upon reaching the bow, Ayla turned her face to the sky and breathed deeply the scent of salt, sweat, and adventure.
In a meditative state, she stood with upturned gaze, reveling in the feeling of the breeze about her shoulders and imagining the heartbeat of the wood beneath her fingers. She rested her hands lightly on the railing, communing with the elements themselves in this christening of her journey to a new, and at the same time old, life.
Ummm never apologize for world building! :D
Acutely keyed into the subtleties of expression after decades of reading subtext in the Blackthorne family’s behaviour, Ayla could feel the put-on patience worn by the Quartermaster in the face of questions that should already have been answered. He handled the situation well, she thought. It was clear that many of the inquiries he received consisted of information readily available elsewhere, though no sign of perturbance or frustration radiated from the speaker. Ayla considered this a pleasant indicator of the nature of the ship’s crew and felt relief as the soaked in the words swirling around her.
Having her turn to speak directly with the Quartermaster, Ayla presented her calmest, most polite demeanor and awaited response with all the placidity of an evening glass lake. Still reading the most subtle tells in this gentleman’s expression and tone, she knew she was not fooling him with her play at human. She let this pass without a second consideration and simply carried on unfazed by his ability to identify her heritage.
“Oh, yes, just one,” she confirmed. “I do not require private accommodations, thank you.”
She glanced from the ship itself, bobbing at anchor some distance from the dock, to the direction the captain has strode off on business. Ayla put on a face of consideration and played the part of owning her independent thoughts as if decisions were often in her hands.
“Well, I think if this can be settled on board, I would prefer to do so there.” This reply was punctuated with a small nod, giving the illusion she had actually considered going to the Guild office. She was going to avoid stepping into a building of that professional and political nature with everything she had.
One long and slender hand drew from her oversized robe’s confines and indicated the paperwork held in the Quartermaster’s grip.
“Do I register with you here or shall we do so aboard your fine vessel?”
In an effort to keep the current in her favor, Ayla took a few small steps towards the little boats filling with other passengers and their belongings. Ayla hefted her lone bundle of belongings which amounted to little more than a miniature lumpy duffle. In a graceful sidestep, she kept her shoulders squared with the Quartermaster and never let her gaze fall from his face, hoping she could hold his attention and encourage the idea that their conversation find completion aboard The Silver Wing.
Having her turn to speak directly with the Quartermaster, Ayla presented her calmest, most polite demeanor and awaited response with all the placidity of an evening glass lake. Still reading the most subtle tells in this gentleman’s expression and tone, she knew she was not fooling him with her play at human. She let this pass without a second consideration and simply carried on unfazed by his ability to identify her heritage.
“Oh, yes, just one,” she confirmed. “I do not require private accommodations, thank you.”
She glanced from the ship itself, bobbing at anchor some distance from the dock, to the direction the captain has strode off on business. Ayla put on a face of consideration and played the part of owning her independent thoughts as if decisions were often in her hands.
“Well, I think if this can be settled on board, I would prefer to do so there.” This reply was punctuated with a small nod, giving the illusion she had actually considered going to the Guild office. She was going to avoid stepping into a building of that professional and political nature with everything she had.
One long and slender hand drew from her oversized robe’s confines and indicated the paperwork held in the Quartermaster’s grip.
“Do I register with you here or shall we do so aboard your fine vessel?”
In an effort to keep the current in her favor, Ayla took a few small steps towards the little boats filling with other passengers and their belongings. Ayla hefted her lone bundle of belongings which amounted to little more than a miniature lumpy duffle. In a graceful sidestep, she kept her shoulders squared with the Quartermaster and never let her gaze fall from his face, hoping she could hold his attention and encourage the idea that their conversation find completion aboard The Silver Wing.
A nervous lip was gnawed pink between anxious teeth. Ayla knew she had been riding a lucky streak that got her as far as this dock. The question was, how long would that luck hold? She had done her best to sell off any of the meager items she possessed to collect fare for her voyage. As such, she carried very little on her person as she stood suppressing her emotional state with marginal success.
As a smattering of other individuals around her milled and conversed with mixed tones of excitement, apprehension, and wonder, the elf sought the balance of social isolation amid a small crowd. She could hear that she was not the only Land Hoper set to embark. That was a good thing. Her refugee dress and haphazard bundle of belongings would not be a red pennant on her shoulders as this venture moved forward.
Ayla listened secretly to some of the whispers around, the concerns about the Horn, some naysayers forecasting a doomed fate, though far more was the melody of eager daydreams sung as epic tales of success to come. Smiling in a small expression, Ayla admired the positive proclamations and let the negative predictions fall to a background murmur; the waterfall always spoke louder than the creek.
Then there was a boat. A small ferry coming from the ship and aimed directly for the dock upon which she stood. This was it. The time drew nearer and all of Ayla’s exuberance took to a rapidly beating heart hiding beneath a placid expression; now was not the time to crack.
Fortunately for her, Ayla had decades of practice maintaining a demeanor that effectively concealed her feelings. Living with the Blackthornes granted her that small gift, at least. Deftly, she wound her way into the gaggle of passengers collecting around the Quartermaster, placing herself in the midst of the herd so as to blend as aptly as possible.
When a second gentleman approached and proclaimed himself captain, Ayla felt a surge in her chest. She had absolutely no interest in getting directly involved with the Guild, but she did want to be noticeable enough that her continued presence would be on the radar of these two marine men.
Using her slightly above-average height to her advantage, Ayla assumed a most proper posture and sought eye contact with this Captain Church. She directed him a demure nod and pleasant smile as he made his intentions known. Her travel cloak was still hood-up to conceal the wild length of her vibrant hair, though wayward strands of flame were prone to flying out to dance in the breeze. Knowing full well that her particular pigmentation was not entirely common, she flashed a friendly golden glance from his face to a respectful downcast observation of his departure.
Immediately turning to the Quartermaster, Ayla found her way into the line of passengers addressing the man for information. In due time, she took her chance to speak to him directly.
“Is there perhaps an opportunity to board this evening, sir?”
Expression calm and ears concealed, the elf found it possible to pass as a human in her mid-20s. Though her uncommon eye color could give her away, she hoped that the diminishing natural light of the day coming to its end would aid her in slipping past too much notice and find the perfect balance of memorable without being alarming.
“I am a bit nervous as I have not been on a ship before,” she explained. “I would very much be appreciative of a chance to experience the moving ground before I make a fool of myself in front of your entire roster.”
As a smattering of other individuals around her milled and conversed with mixed tones of excitement, apprehension, and wonder, the elf sought the balance of social isolation amid a small crowd. She could hear that she was not the only Land Hoper set to embark. That was a good thing. Her refugee dress and haphazard bundle of belongings would not be a red pennant on her shoulders as this venture moved forward.
Ayla listened secretly to some of the whispers around, the concerns about the Horn, some naysayers forecasting a doomed fate, though far more was the melody of eager daydreams sung as epic tales of success to come. Smiling in a small expression, Ayla admired the positive proclamations and let the negative predictions fall to a background murmur; the waterfall always spoke louder than the creek.
Then there was a boat. A small ferry coming from the ship and aimed directly for the dock upon which she stood. This was it. The time drew nearer and all of Ayla’s exuberance took to a rapidly beating heart hiding beneath a placid expression; now was not the time to crack.
Fortunately for her, Ayla had decades of practice maintaining a demeanor that effectively concealed her feelings. Living with the Blackthornes granted her that small gift, at least. Deftly, she wound her way into the gaggle of passengers collecting around the Quartermaster, placing herself in the midst of the herd so as to blend as aptly as possible.
When a second gentleman approached and proclaimed himself captain, Ayla felt a surge in her chest. She had absolutely no interest in getting directly involved with the Guild, but she did want to be noticeable enough that her continued presence would be on the radar of these two marine men.
Using her slightly above-average height to her advantage, Ayla assumed a most proper posture and sought eye contact with this Captain Church. She directed him a demure nod and pleasant smile as he made his intentions known. Her travel cloak was still hood-up to conceal the wild length of her vibrant hair, though wayward strands of flame were prone to flying out to dance in the breeze. Knowing full well that her particular pigmentation was not entirely common, she flashed a friendly golden glance from his face to a respectful downcast observation of his departure.
Immediately turning to the Quartermaster, Ayla found her way into the line of passengers addressing the man for information. In due time, she took her chance to speak to him directly.
“Is there perhaps an opportunity to board this evening, sir?”
Expression calm and ears concealed, the elf found it possible to pass as a human in her mid-20s. Though her uncommon eye color could give her away, she hoped that the diminishing natural light of the day coming to its end would aid her in slipping past too much notice and find the perfect balance of memorable without being alarming.
“I am a bit nervous as I have not been on a ship before,” she explained. “I would very much be appreciative of a chance to experience the moving ground before I make a fool of myself in front of your entire roster.”
Character: Ayla, of the Briarthornes
In stark contrast to the clean and sharp folds of the captain’s uniform and tidy presentation, there huddled a hopeful passenger in the shadow of the dock’s yet-loaded cargo. Swathed in nondescript linens and an oversized, worn travel cloak, the figure nearly vanished into the atmosphere as nothing more than discarded cloth sacks. Minute stirrings could easily be explained away as the gentle kiss of the sea air encouraging some meaningless refuse to take its leave. Sad reality meant that the comparison was not so far from the truth, at least in the eyes of the average citizen.
Ayla sat with keen attention to the ship ahead; her escape, her destiny, her future. She would fly to freedom on The Silver Wing and find a life of peace with the her cousins across the sea. Living as an elf in a human-dominated world was far from easy, even if she were among the “lucky few” to have been born into a tradition of familial servitude to a noble house.
She was privileged if impoverished, fortunate while still frowned upon, and lived comfortably though her spirit was on the verge of total collapse. The Blackthorne house had held dominion over her ancestry for many generations and prided themselves on the “cooperative partnership” their human nobility formed to the betterment of this particular elven lineage.
Ayla saw things differently. What the Blackthornes considered to be spoiled and unnecessary attentions on their personal staff amounted to little more than above-poverty rations and a less-drafty sleeping quarter. One fateful encounter with the young master of the house marked the beginning of Ayla’s flight. This dock marked her takeoff.
Fighting all her anxieties, she continued to sit statuesque with her hood up to conceal her pointed ears and fire auburn hair. The glimmer of her sunburst eyes occasionally illuminated a thin, pale face beneath the draped halo of the filthy, tattered cloak.
Finally noting movement from her targeted vessel, she shot up to standing posture, careful to keep the movement from casting off her identity-concealing raiments. Hiding within her oversized trappings, Ayla’s figure was amorphous at best. Material rippled around and consumed the tiny form below. She stood slightly taller than the average woman, though was built with a far less natural insulation against the cold.
“Please,” she whispered to herself as she hugged her arms around her own midsection and watched the smaller boat creeping from ship to shore. “Please be my path.”
Ayla sat with keen attention to the ship ahead; her escape, her destiny, her future. She would fly to freedom on The Silver Wing and find a life of peace with the her cousins across the sea. Living as an elf in a human-dominated world was far from easy, even if she were among the “lucky few” to have been born into a tradition of familial servitude to a noble house.
She was privileged if impoverished, fortunate while still frowned upon, and lived comfortably though her spirit was on the verge of total collapse. The Blackthorne house had held dominion over her ancestry for many generations and prided themselves on the “cooperative partnership” their human nobility formed to the betterment of this particular elven lineage.
Ayla saw things differently. What the Blackthornes considered to be spoiled and unnecessary attentions on their personal staff amounted to little more than above-poverty rations and a less-drafty sleeping quarter. One fateful encounter with the young master of the house marked the beginning of Ayla’s flight. This dock marked her takeoff.
Fighting all her anxieties, she continued to sit statuesque with her hood up to conceal her pointed ears and fire auburn hair. The glimmer of her sunburst eyes occasionally illuminated a thin, pale face beneath the draped halo of the filthy, tattered cloak.
Finally noting movement from her targeted vessel, she shot up to standing posture, careful to keep the movement from casting off her identity-concealing raiments. Hiding within her oversized trappings, Ayla’s figure was amorphous at best. Material rippled around and consumed the tiny form below. She stood slightly taller than the average woman, though was built with a far less natural insulation against the cold.
“Please,” she whispered to herself as she hugged her arms around her own midsection and watched the smaller boat creeping from ship to shore. “Please be my path.”
Old-timer here, been out of the RP game for quite a while and looking to jump back in. I don’t have any particular stories or plots that I am aiming for right now, so I am dropping out this line in a more general sense. I would like to get involved with some 1x1 RP that is meaningful and involves growth. I want to create a story, build a world, explore our imaginations together!
To cover some basics, here is some general information that my be helpful in finding a match for a creative endeavor:
Style:
I prefer to write in a casual-to-moderate style. I like writing that expresses more than a character’s actions, but alludes to their feelings, their emotions, their thoughts. Does this mean posts always have to be lengthy and flowery? No, of course not. But I prefer to run creatively with someone who appreciates getting the insight to my character’s subconscious even if their character wouldn’t know it themselves; I find that the omniscient peek can help both of us as writers carry the story together much further when some hints are dropped via narrative.
Setting:
Thematically, I really love any version of high fantasy, medieval, or historical settings. I have recently begun to delve into the apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic genres and would be open to further exploration in that arena.
Insofar as fandoms are concerned, I prefer to use the worlds of a product I enjoy. I do not want to be connected directly to the primary story of any pre-established epic, but sometimes the world in which that story takes place can serve as a familiar set of social dynamics and rules within which to play. Meaning this: I love the Dragon Age series. I do not want to play my Inquisitor as a roleplay character, but I would love to play a Dalish in the world, interacting in the established territories of Ferelden, Orlais, etc.
With that in mind, here are some fandom universes that I would be open to dabbling in: Dragon Age, Skyrim, Fallout, any of the established D&D territories (Sword Coast, etc) including Exandria of Critical Role. List to be expanded as my brain works better. These suggestions are by no means comprehensive.
Rating:
I have no problem with things getting mature, so long as the mature events are a natural progression of the story we are building together. I don’t aim for smut for the sake of smut, but I absolutely do not have a problem with it as part of the organic evolution of our characters.
Because of this, I prefer to write with someone of an older persuasion, at least 21+. I do not want to be getting into themes or situations with a writer who is too young for the action to be proper for.
My Character(s):
For my primary narrative character, I will be playing female as that is where I feel most comfortable writing (for now, anyway). I can bring in secondary or tertiary characters of any persuasion as our story needs, but the protagonist in my hands will be female. I do not have a preference for the counterpart co-star of our narrative.
Alternative Rules:
The only idea I am currently percolating is a narrative that uses dice rolls as guides for the narrative action. I began to GM some 5E games about a year ago and have found the improvisational aspect of translating a roll to exposition an enjoyable challenge. I am not looking for us to roll for every interaction our characters have with one another, but I think it might be fun to incorporate some moderate stake dice rolls as a way to encourage both of us to work with characters that may not be able to perform the way we planned.
That being said, I am entirely open to the traditional narrative-only creative writing process where we both agree to work together on the outcomes of any conflict or scenarios our characters may find themselves entrenched in.
—
If you made it this far, kudos to you. If you think we may be a suitable pairing (I’m also open to a small grouping of 3-4 players), drop me a line. I’d love to hear some ideas.
To cover some basics, here is some general information that my be helpful in finding a match for a creative endeavor:
Style:
I prefer to write in a casual-to-moderate style. I like writing that expresses more than a character’s actions, but alludes to their feelings, their emotions, their thoughts. Does this mean posts always have to be lengthy and flowery? No, of course not. But I prefer to run creatively with someone who appreciates getting the insight to my character’s subconscious even if their character wouldn’t know it themselves; I find that the omniscient peek can help both of us as writers carry the story together much further when some hints are dropped via narrative.
Setting:
Thematically, I really love any version of high fantasy, medieval, or historical settings. I have recently begun to delve into the apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic genres and would be open to further exploration in that arena.
Insofar as fandoms are concerned, I prefer to use the worlds of a product I enjoy. I do not want to be connected directly to the primary story of any pre-established epic, but sometimes the world in which that story takes place can serve as a familiar set of social dynamics and rules within which to play. Meaning this: I love the Dragon Age series. I do not want to play my Inquisitor as a roleplay character, but I would love to play a Dalish in the world, interacting in the established territories of Ferelden, Orlais, etc.
With that in mind, here are some fandom universes that I would be open to dabbling in: Dragon Age, Skyrim, Fallout, any of the established D&D territories (Sword Coast, etc) including Exandria of Critical Role. List to be expanded as my brain works better. These suggestions are by no means comprehensive.
Rating:
I have no problem with things getting mature, so long as the mature events are a natural progression of the story we are building together. I don’t aim for smut for the sake of smut, but I absolutely do not have a problem with it as part of the organic evolution of our characters.
Because of this, I prefer to write with someone of an older persuasion, at least 21+. I do not want to be getting into themes or situations with a writer who is too young for the action to be proper for.
My Character(s):
For my primary narrative character, I will be playing female as that is where I feel most comfortable writing (for now, anyway). I can bring in secondary or tertiary characters of any persuasion as our story needs, but the protagonist in my hands will be female. I do not have a preference for the counterpart co-star of our narrative.
Alternative Rules:
The only idea I am currently percolating is a narrative that uses dice rolls as guides for the narrative action. I began to GM some 5E games about a year ago and have found the improvisational aspect of translating a roll to exposition an enjoyable challenge. I am not looking for us to roll for every interaction our characters have with one another, but I think it might be fun to incorporate some moderate stake dice rolls as a way to encourage both of us to work with characters that may not be able to perform the way we planned.
That being said, I am entirely open to the traditional narrative-only creative writing process where we both agree to work together on the outcomes of any conflict or scenarios our characters may find themselves entrenched in.
—
If you made it this far, kudos to you. If you think we may be a suitable pairing (I’m also open to a small grouping of 3-4 players), drop me a line. I’d love to hear some ideas.
This sounds like a fun setting to explore! I am interested.
I would place myself in a similar category of casual-to-advanced roleplayer. I have not found much interaction on this platform as of yet, but am definitely interested in building a 1x1 project with another active creative writer. The other details laid out above suit me just perfectly with regards to general genre and character positions. I am most comfortable taking on female primary roles but can play any for additional ensemble. I sent you a PM; hope to hear back.
© 2007-2024