Shiva

Angeli Pallidus: A Itura Universe Rp

I like this concept a lot!

Quick question. I think I know the answer, but I just want to be sure. Do you want us to stick to the four main races, or is it alright if we go off script a bit (genasi, drow, tieflings and the like)?

ᵐᵉᵐᵉᶰᵗᵒ ♱ ᵐᵒʳᶤ

At first Delilah had held herself together well. At first she'd just internally repeated the pledge of allegiance while getting the shit beaten out of her, occasionally throwing a few quips at her captors. Then her sarcastic remarks stopped, and she just didn't talk at all. Then she started begging them to stop, screaming until her voice was so hoarse she could no longer make a sound. They had continued the torture of shooting her, pretending they were going to, and alternated a bit by beating her senseless. She flinched at every bullet fired, resisting the desire to whimper and squirm away like a beaten dog, but still kept her integrity. There was no way in hell she was giving these assholes what they wanted.

They extracted some of the bullets from her (which was completely unnecessary given that they were nowhere near any of her vital organs) in a rather brutal method and patched her up, letting her sit for a while in complete silence. One might think that was nice, but under the circumstances, she would have given an arm to have something to distract her from her wounds, even a leaky faucet. But there was nothing. Nothing but the sound of her heartbeat and breathing, and the screaming of her own mind. At some point she started singing to herself. Nothing terribly complicated, just a few lullabies she knew; something she hoped would calm her heart and distract her from her wounds. Her voice was not beautiful. It cracked every few seconds, hoarse from the hours of torture she'd endured, and the soft tune was almost painful to sing, but it was a distraction. It was something to get her mind off the aching in her legs, or the taste of blood in her mouth. It was something.

It could have been an hour, it could have been fifteen minutes, but before long her captors had returned, and this time they had a few new people with them. This was going to be lovely. They started by stripping her of any clothing she had been wearing, no doubt another form of psychological torture, and then they forced her onto the ground and bent her over backwards, binding her wrists and ankles to each other in an unnatural position. For the first couple of minutes it wasn't too bad, but then her muscles and joints started to ache with the tension of being forced into turning directions they had not been created to. Her back especially was loudly protesting. After it was clear that this position was beginning to bother her, they began questioning her again. "Who do you work for?" "What country are you from?" "What were you looking for?" "Tell us what the CIA is planning." "We know you work for them." All of them took turns questioning her, yanking her hair and continuing the earlier process of punching the shit out of her. Well, they were nothing if not predictable.

This continued for another several hours. At some point they had blindfolded her, perhaps thinking depriving her of sight would make the torture worse. It did. With sight she had at least been able to prepare herself for their never-ending blows, but now she had no idea who was dealing what, what direction they were coming from, when they would strike, or anything of the sort. It was a small, but agonizing detail, just like everything else.

After a certain amount of time, Delilah stopped registering what was going on around her. She was still awake, but she'd stopped screaming, or fighting, or really doing anything. She just lay there and took it. In her mind she had gone somewhere else, somewhere far away from anything that was going on. She went back to the coffee shop where she'd first met the man who was probably somewhere in this building, and thought over how much she'd liked that little coffee shop in Paris. It was small, but it had smelled so heavenly of coffee and baked goods, and it had been so very warm. The people were friendly, save for the occasional mean-spirited person who came through, but even those people were short lived. It had been one of the nicest ops she'd ever been on. She remembered thinking she could spend her life as a barista in Paris, and looking back now she wondered why she'd ever joined the agency. She could have been serving old people their coffees for the rest of her life. Ah, what a quieter, simpler life that would have been.

They unbound her at some point, and somehow it hurt worse than being bound. It was enough to bring her out of her mental safe place, anyway. Her back refused to bend forward, and it felt like the breath was being knocked out of her any time she tried. And her legs... Oh her legs felt like they'd been broken in five different places. Her knees especially ached and screamed for some sort of respite, but it would not come.

After they had untied her, they picked her up and shoved her into a box of some kind. It was narrow and tall, perhaps two feet wide. She felt them close the door, hearing it shut mere inches from her face and she leaned forward a little- and her head touched something smooth. She couldn't tell if it was glass, steel, aluminum, or whatever other substance, but it was very cold, and it was just enough for her to fit in. Not enough for her to sit, lay down, or do anything else, so she was forced to just stand there on her aching legs. She wanted to lay down and curl into a ball, but that was physically impossible. She couldn't sleep, and though she was trying desperately to get back to her mental safe haven, it was not coming, and she started sobbing. Delilah hated crying, but it was the only form of relief her body could produce at the moment, and it was better to do it now than in front of her captors. Although for all she knew this was a glass box and they were watching her. The very thought made her squirm, and her arms bumped into the walls of the box she was in. It was so, so very small. A little voice started to whisper she was never going to get out. She was going to be stuck in this box forever and it was going to crush her. The hood on her head didn't help, as she could feel the warm air when she exhaled, and it just made the space feel that much smaller. Shestarted to feel like the air itself was suffocating her.

"God dammit get a hold of yourself," She whispered, fidgeting and fighting back the feeling of panic that was building in her stomach, threatening to take away her ability to breathe.

There was a noise from outside the box that distracted her. It sounded like... Crashing. Screaming. Fighting. Someone was fighting. It could have been her counterpart, or it could have been another prisoner that was kept in the wretched dungeon. Or maybe it was just someone getting the mess beaten out of them. The more she listened, the more she thought the latter wasn't true. It was definitely two people fighting, but there was no way to tell who was the prisoner and who was the captor. All she heard was grunts and yells of pain, then one more scream, and silence.

Monster hunting guild rp

If you're still accepting, I'd be down!

Shiva's 1x1 Corner

Okay so I change my mind. I did think of a specific plot I want to do, or rather a vague idea. Pirates. I definitely want pirates. Preferably in a fantasy D&D-ish setting, but that's negotiable.

Shiva's old art thread

Some revised character art for ya.

Shiva's 1x1 Corner

Oh hai there.

A lot of you know me, but for those who don't, hi! I'm Shiva, nice to meet you. I've been rping for somewhere around a decade, and I started out as a wee lass script rping warrior cats on a site called Horseland (ah, those were the days). I have (thankfully) come a long way.

As far as genres I like, I'm pretty much fine with anything that isn't NSFW, werewolves, vampires, ghosts, and things like that.
I love sci-fi, fantasy, western, medieval, romance, adventure, and pretty much anything.

I repeat: I do not do NSFW. Ya nasty hoes.

Not gonna lie, I am particularly biased towards rps with romantic tones in it, but only if there is actual substance as well. I want a story and an adventure, not a romance novel. Think of "Me Before You" VS like... "Black Panther," or "The Lunar Chronicles" series. There's romance in all of these, but the last two are mostly about the story, less about the couple(s). There's a difference in a roleplay that has romance just for the sake of romance, even if the characters aren't compatible, and a roleplay that has a good plot with romance in it that was carefully forged and built, that lets the relationship between the two characters develop naturally. I personally absolutely adore the latter, and would love to make a new friend that will obsess over our OCs and the story with me.

On that note, I am (perhaps wrongly) very picky about my 1x1 partners. I've done a lot of rping with newer rpers to help them learn over the years, and I'm just not in the mood to be someone's teacher, you know? I want a partner, not a student where I have to hold their hand. So uh... Yeah.

If you're interested, feel free to hit me up! I don't have a particular plot in mind, I've just been stuck at home for the last month and I'm bored.

Please Note: I am a fulltime caregiver for my mother, and as such I don't have the time nor energy to post every single day, so if that's the kind of partner you're looking for, then I'm afraid I'm not your gal.

Writing Sample

Context: Opening post for a fantasy western group rp I'm GMing. I can do longer or shorter, but this is an average post from me.

Dear Madam,

It is of the utmost importance that your respond to this letter promptly. Perhaps you have heard of the strange happenings in Forsaken. If not, I am sure you can find a vague overview in the newspaper. At any rate, I am writing to you because I am interested in hiring someone of your abilities, and I am willing to pay you very well if you are interested.

I am putting together a group of creatures with various talents to investigate and get to the bottom of the mysteries of our fair town, and you would split the reward money equally between yourselves (assuming, of course, you survive this endeavor). I am also willing to pay you $500 up front for all your troubles. There is a meeting taking place on the 6th of September at the Caraway Inn in Forsaken. Should you be interested, the meeting will be in room 310. If you are not, then please dispose of this letter as soon as is convenient.

Your Obed servt.
-A.G.

Exactly one week ago, Cinder Nordes had received a letter which contained the above message, and it was this letter that brought her to the cesspool of society that was Forsaken, and had her now looking for the Caraway Inn. It was a suspicious letter, to be sure, but she'd received even shadier letters before. Besides, money was money. She didn't really care what her prospective patron had in store for them, so long as she got paid by the end of it and everyone went their merry way.

It had only taken her two days to get to Forsaken. Having a dragon as a traveling companion was a tremendous advantage when it came to transportation, but Ulleiss had given her quite a fight about wanting to decline this job. He said he had a bad feeling about it, and that he wanted to just ignore the letter. But $30,000 was no job to turn away from just because they had a bad feeling about it. The duo had discussed it, and in the end, they ended up agreeing that the sheer amount of money was worth the risk.

So here they were in Forsaken, making their way towards the designated meeting place and hoping no one was going to try and shoot them. The Caraway Inn stood on the far east side of the town, silhouetted against the sun that was slowly creeping over the distant mountains. It wasn't a particularly nice building, but it was in decent enough condition, and one of the more reputable places in Forsaken. A perfect place for one to meet a conspicuous group of fellow greedy bastards. It was also quite clean, which she appreciated. When Cinder entered the inn, she simply told the man behind the bar what room she was going to, and was handed a key. Without any further questions, Cinder went up the stairs to the room.

It was empty when she arrived, but no doubt either their patron or her fellow party members would be joining them soon, so the woman simply sat in a chair by the window. She could see who was coming and going, and there was also a clear line of sight to the door. It was defendable if someone tried to come in shooting. Paranoid? Cinder? Never.

ᵐᵉᵐᵉᶰᵗᵒ ♱ ᵐᵒʳᶤ

Fake it till you make it

Veritas Lux Mea

Captain Maria Thorne

---

"I need to go... do something," Maria informed the android before taking her leave as well. Neither of their newcomers seemed to be in any condition to be causing trouble, so Maria figured leaving them unsupervised for a little bit would be fine. Or at least she hoped it would be. The captain jogged her way up the stairs and to the catwalk, trying to decide what she needed to check on first and making a mental to-do list as she passed by the different rooms on the ship.

She needed to find out where the Judge had put their prisoners. It hadn't really been discussed in the moment, nor had she had the time to talk to him since, but she'd need to talk to those guys at some point. If by talk you meant beating them to within an inch of their life. The rest of the ship also needed to be looked over by an actual person; you never knew when a sensor would malfunction and not pick up on some damage somewhere. The whole ship was so damaged Maria was fairly certain they'd never get her completely fixed again. Though she wasn't doing that well to begin with, so it wasn't really that surprising that she needed some TLC. The crew would be in desperate need of a break too. They needed to get to the Glao dock, get the ship repaired, and give the crew a few days to recover. Oh, that was a load of credits that Maria did not want to see go, but she'd put it off as long as she could. It'd been months, if not over a year since the crew had rested properly or the Veritas had been in good working order, and it was definitely costing them. Maria was even thinking about perhaps trying to throw at least a small bonus into their paychecks if she could. Ansgar could get some new tools, Kai some herbs (though Maria wasn't convinced as to the legality of his wares), Andrea could buy some more figurines, and Kev-

Oh. Andrea.

Maria had momentarily forgotten the other tragic loss that day in amongst all of the other chaos. Andrea's body probably still hadn't even been collected. What was left of it, anyway. Heaving a large sigh, Maria gathered up her strength to continue on the catwalk to the now sealed off bridge. The alarms for a hull breach had stopped, meaning the blast shield had engaged and it was at least safe to enter, but the captain still hesitated before manually unlocking the hatch to the ship's bridge. She didn't want to see the charred remains of someone she lived and worked with. Unfortunately, this was also a part of the job she signed up for, and it was better that she have to do it than anyone else.

Inside there lay the motionless, battered body of their pilot. It thankfully wasn't charred as she'd expected, but it was still unnerving to see someone she knew gazing lifeless into the void, and Maria took a moment to close the young woman's eyes before lifting it up and beginning to carry it to Kai's infirmary. She didn't bother the doctor as she entered. He was busily tending to Teg, and he looked as exhausted as she felt. Andrea was lost to them now; there was no rush. She sat the body in the corner relatively out of the way, then covered it with a sheet to give Andrea some sort of dignity. Not that it mattered, but it made Maria feel better.

"How're they doing, doc?" She asked, referring of course to Teg and her first mate.

Ansgar & Persephone

---

_{Collab with Eisenhorn}

It took Persephone a moment to find the catwalk that Maria had gestured to. She'd been distracted by the android's distress, and had forgotten the exact place it was supposed to be in, but after a second or two of jogging towards the direction she thought the captain had indicated, the catwalk appeared and she went down it. It wasn't a very long catwalk, and almost immediately after going down it she could see the doorway that lead into the engine room where the engineer was supposed to be.

"Hello?" She called out, looking around "an angry Scotsman." What was a Scotsman anyway? Was that some weird subrace of human? Were they all angry or just this one? "I think I'm supposed to be looking for Ans... Uh-oh. Ans...ma? Ansma? No that's not it. Ansgar! There we go."

Of all the things that Ansgar was not in the mood to put up with, it was strangers wandering into the engine room calling out and sounding confused. Butchering his name didn't help either, and he finished what he was doing beneath the deckplate before shoving upwards, plate swinging on a hinge and flying open, the irritable mechanic that she was looking for popping out. What wasn't in view was the hand on his sidearm, though it was effectively a canon masquerading as a pistol, since he didn't even remotely recognize the voice at all. What he saw was, well, not expected, but he still narrowed his eyes and glared at the intrusion to his work. He hadn't been paying close attention to any of the comms, busy with trying to fix what he could prior to docking the ship, and he was not pleased with someone interrupting his work.

"W'o's askin' and w'at are ye bot'erin me for? As ye can no doubt tell, t'is bucket just got s'ot t' 'ell and back an' I'm the onl one qualified t' fix the bloody mess."

"Yeah I uh... I kinda got a front row seat. You guys were in some serious hot water, huh?" The cyborg didn't seem unnerved by his irritation, and carried on with a very casual demeanor as she glanced around the wrecked tattered engine room. She then turned back to him.

"Hi, I'm Persephone! I am sorry about taking you from your work, but I have a bit of a problem. There's an android in the cargo hold in the midst of a slight mental breakdown -don't ask- and his arm is kind of... not... attached. Also my fighter is literally falling to bits. See I can fix both of these things, but my tools are as shot as this engine room and I was hoping maybe you would have some spares that I could barrow? As kind of a, you know, thanks for helping you guys not get blown up? I'd give them back of course! I'd only need them for a little bit, and maybe I could even use them to fix my own tools."

She flashed her most winning grin after finishing that little spiel, pressing her palms together in a "please" sign.
"Oh nay, t'at wasn' 'ot water, oh not at all. Getting our asses shot off wasn't 'ot water in t'e slig'test, not at all! Ye were watc'in', course ye s'ould be aware..." He narrowed his eyes slightly as she glanced around the engine room, that was very much a work in progress at the moment. Between the attempted sabotage, then the pirates, it was a gods damned miracle the place was even remotely up and running. Still, even Persephone could tell that, the moment she mentioned an android, the scotsman froze and looked at her, dead pan but clearly unhappy. If before was irritated, he was about ready to march down there and start raising hell personally.

"W'o in t'eir rig't mind decided t'at revivin' a tin man was a fucking good idea?! T'ose soddin' t'ings ain' not'in but trouble. Ah swear, ah ain' gettin' paid enoug' to put up with a fucking tin man. Also, as ye can plainly see, yer bucket o' bolts ain' t' only t'ing fallin' apart rig't now. Course, ah say no, captain'll 'ave m' fuckin' 'ead...." Grumbling, and spitting curses to himself, the man hauled himself out from under the deckplates, all lean muscle and sweating from the exertion of digging around the literal and figurative guts of the engine room trying to get things as up to speed as he could, moving over to a section of the engine room that looked a bit more lived in than the rest, and had not fared well during the attack. Growling, he dug through some boxes and pulled a ragged looking toolbox clear, marching back and setting it by the open deck plate, reaching down to fish out the tools he had been using.

"'ere, ah'd say scrap t' fuckin' tin man, but t'ats beyond my call at t'is point. Clear out so ah can focus on tryin' to get shit workin', and rig s'it against tin man tamperin'. Fuckin' mad fuckers, t'e lot of ye..."

"Right..."

The cyborg didn't seem to pay him too much mind as he ranted with an increasingly more colorful vocabulary of expletives. She paid attention to him, of course, but didn't really seem to get offended or take it personally as he cursed and carried on with his condescending vent. She'd grown up with pirates after all. They were constantly drunk; screaming, cursing, arguing, insulting, and every other unpleasant form of communication one could stand to think of, so her metaphorical skin was rather thick, and she also understood that he was probably worked way beyond his abilities right now. This ship was way too large for one person to repair by themselves.

"Thanks. You know," she said, taking the tools from him, "once I get the uh... "tin man's" arm reattached, I could probably help out a bit with the repairs."

Continued mutterings and complaints aside, Ansgar would have supplied the strange visitor with suitable tools, and seemed to almost bristle at the idea of someone else getting in the way and attempting to 'help' fix up the ship. Oh hell no, if anyone was going to get this bucket up and running again it would be him damn it. Last thing he needed was to account for other idiots breaking things in an attempt to fix things. Just because she could patch up a scrap fighter didn't mean he trusted her to lay a hand on the engine room. Still, the offer would require some sort of response, and after grunting as he hauled himself back through a deck plate with his personal tools, planning to get back to work since he really didn't have time to be sitting around jawing with someone who was humoring a fucking tin man's needs. Nothing but trouble, those damned things were.

"Nay, not a snowball's c'ance in 'ell. Stick to yer scrap fig'ter and t'e fuckin' tin man. Ah'll not 'ave ot'ers runnin' around buggerin' t'ings up tryin' t' 'elp. Now if you'll 'xcuse me..."

With that he'd haul the deck plate back shut, and one could hear muttering, cursing, and the sounds of repairs being undertaken again. She'd been effectively dismissed, regardless whether or not she intended to have any further remarks on the irritable scotsman. He had no intents to play nice when he had far too much to do.

"Nice meeting you!" Persephone called as he disappeared again. It was a pity he wouldn't let her help, but oh well. That was his problem she supposed. Happy to at least have some functioning tools again, she skipped her way back to the cargo bay to start the task of repairing the android.

Forsaken

---

The Genasi had just started to wind down a bit. She'd taken a seat at the bar, ordered some whiskey and a bowl of manticore stew, and was just about calm again when the little kobold from upstairs jumped up beside her and proceeded to assault the poor waiter. Cinder had side-eyed the creature while sipping her drink, but made no move to intercept. It was none of her business. Sure, he was probably a little crazy and she'd be traveling with him for the gods only knew how long, but as long as he didn't start pestering her then whatever the dragon-wannabe did was up to him.

And then he started pestering her.

“Excuse me, I don’t mean to pry upon your private affairs but I happened to spot you and that Moon elf having quite an amiable conversation together." He'd said. "Are you and that moon elf fiances by any chance? If so, please know that I am available to officiate your wedding as a chosen cleric of Garrakg.”

Just like that, her hair lit up again like a match and the glass shattered in her hand as her skin temperature shot up. She placed a few coin on the counter to pay for the broken glass and a new drink, then turned to the kobold.

"Well," She started, feigning a smile that did little to cover up the murder in her gaze. "for someone who didn't mean to pry, you sure are nosy, aren't you? No, we are not fiancés. I hate moon elves, and most especially that particular one as she's been ruining my career and any plans I had of retiring early. To speak nothing of the fact that I don't fancy women. And were I to ever be married, it would be by someone who shares my own beliefs, thank you very much."

The Genasi had obviously done her best to be as non-hostile as possible. She had also failed miserably, and was aware of this fact, but was too irritated by the implications to apologize at the moment. She'd need to skin the male genasi alive later for ever putting the thought into people's heads. It also occurred to her that at some point they should probably put some effort into learning all of the other party members' names, but they had the rest of the day to do that, and right now she really just wanted to sit in peace and have her stew without someone prying into her personal affairs and making assumptions based on a five minute interaction. The genasi had already been through the needless tradition of being married, and it had turned out about as well as she thought it would. She had absolutely no desire to do it again. All Cinder wanted to do was get through this job, get paid, maybe get some evidence to put away the thorn in her side for good, collect that bounty, and then retire to the middle of nowhere with a few dozen hydra. Maybe somewhat near a town so she could make friends with whatever poor soul was just as bitter as her.

Shiva's old art thread

It's been forever but here.