Multiple Settings Always looking! Long posts, realistic characters, tons of ideas. (Please ignore post count + dates)

[Aster]

Im up for modern fantasy n2 if you're still searching.

 

[Lenaara]

Bump.

 

[Troy]

I have a few ideas, you can PM and we could discuss them or come up with a new one if you want!

 

[Lenaara]

Bump.

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

@Lenaara


Hey there, I have a few plots here that you might be interested in looking through. PM me with any that catch your eye!


Plots - Floating's 1x1 Search Thread

 

[DefectiveGiraffe]

I would love to do a post-apocalyptic Fallout based RP with you!

 

[Lenaara]

Bump.

 

[Lenaara]

Bump.

 

[Proficiently Awkward]

I'm always in the market for a good post-apocalyptic RP. I'm a detailed, literate writer who likes nothing more than to create rich stories and settings. If you'd like to collaborate on something together, feel free to shoot me a PM. I'd be more than happy to submit a writing sample.

 

[Lenaara]

Bumpity McBump Bump.

 

[Ronnie]

Hi, I would love to set something up with you.

 

[SirGrey]

Hey I'd be interested in doing some of the modern fantasy stories if you ainterestedted

 

[Lenaara]

Bump.

 

[Lenaara]

BumpityBump

 

[Lenaara]

Bumpity McBump

 

[PaigeMadison]

Okay I'm sooo for the vampire one! Is that one still open?

 

[Lenaara]

Bumpity bump

 

[Lenaara]

Bump.

 

[Clairikins]

A lot of these scenes look like fun, so I'm going to post small notes to them. Feel free to PM me if you like these takes on your ideas!

Spies: Young Yumi Sunray is a natural at archery, A real gift or something more? Fortunately she thinks that you're just a friend or a fan as she gets ready for her next competition, but she seems to be hiding a big secret.

Gang: Morrisa is the last person to actually work for the law, but she doesn't have a choice right now what with the dirt they have on her. She is, however, the sort to join a gang. She's used to living outside the law, but with the influence of the new gang will she forget about her deal with the police?

Wings: Fairies are small creatures, nothing violent about them in general, even going as far as to hide so other races won't eat them, only coming out to breed. That was some time ago, however Claire, with her enchanted bracelet to keep her from aging, remembers such a time. She doesn't like the corruption the fairies are going through, but she's too weak to stop them alone! At least she can save a few people from them, maybe even enough to have a semblance of a normal life.

Magic: Lilly has always been into creating things, ever since she was a child. She sees these times as something else to be completed, another puzzle to finish. A little loss of sanity is nothing compared to what may come of this!

Vampires: Scarlet knows that she should be a vampire, and hearing about a real vampire nearby heightens her curiosity enough to investigate with the desire to become one herself.

Vampire spinoff: Scarlet merely believes that she's a vampire. Your character has been assigned to help her out of this delusion. Others have tried to help before, but it was all for naught. She isn't doing well, but she still refuses normal food, and there's no telling how much longer she has.

Bodyguard: Sakamoto Kumiko loves books so much that she travelled across the ocean just to reach a country with more books to read! However, shortly after arriving, she not only finds out that she isn't allowed to stay in the library, but also that there is a crisis that's about to unfurl (bandits, evil king, something). She is a pacifist at heart and not even an amazing magic user, but she is able to convince YC to come along! A Paladin protecting the young maiden on a quest to stop this evil before it can harm anyone. It's only the right thing to do, after all.

Marriage: Princess Kima is young, with rumors circling around her through the small kingdom of HED (Human. Elf. Dwarf.) already. She wasn't born properly like her older sister (who has given up rights of the crown to be a protector and adventurer), but she is still meant to wed royalty of either the dwarves or the elves. There aren't many candidates and she has to choose soon, so she is going on a date with each one. Yours is the last of the dates, and the princess is tired of going out so much already. The castle is small and you get there after the sun sets, now to wait for the princess shows up to make a good impression.

Afterworld: Ember has made a nice living for herself, a secure circle of buildings and walls to keep out whatever freaks wander around the wasteland. Thinking critters are another matter, but those can be dealt with easily enough. One straggler is different, however, different enough to give her pause, to invite you in, although she still won't trust you so quickly.

Space: One side of the war has already been won, or at least almost. For hundreds of years now the shapeshifting race of the Sarei have been fighting free and escaping with ease, but now that there's a unique device to see who is and isn't a Sarei the demonic (either with demons as ancestors or just superstition based on how they look/act) race has been rounded up and killed off once and for all.
Well, mostly. It pays to keep one around for educational purposes and whatnot, a young adult by the name of Nukpana. Just like the rest of its kind it is very hard to get a straight answer, but unlike the rest it hasn't tried to escape yet. They live somewhat longer than humans, but not forever. This specimen is now in your ship, and it would be easy to spread the word that the Sarei are gone, easy to use this last one to spy on or steal anything you want. All you have to do is reason with it.

Android: Taylor End was a fine girl... or she would have been if her parents had been nicer, namely her father.
Despite never wanting to admit it while she was alive, she was a half-breed. A slave and a slave owner. She was raised to punish those who refused to behave and to take those punishments herself. She even had a piercing in her neck perfectly suited for a leash.
After her mother was killed while she was young, Taylor put on her blindfold, vowing to never take it off. True to her word she didn't. She met people who were in the market to buy, and some just passing through, but she never took it off: not when she started her plan to run away, not when she did run away, not when she was caught, and not when she was killed.
Now? The memories are foggy and the commands get mixed; the blindfold is important, but why? She has to avoid doing wrong, she has to keep others from doing wrong, but there is no whip to strike anymore, not even in her mind. Is this what it was like for the original? Is she still the real Taylor who had dreams of dragons?

 

[Idea]

Hmmm... I gotta say, I am quite interested in roleplaying with you! I do have one question though, and that is since you provided a writing sample, do you require we give you a writing sample as well?

 

[Lenaara]

Bump.

 

[Evi62]

Hey I am looking for an RP partner, obviously. Before I move onto what kind of plots and ideas I have I'd like to point out some rules first.


I usually write from 3-5 paragraphs minimum per post, it may be less or more than that as it depends on the information that my RP partner is giving me.

Next is the issue of the plot itself. I'd like us to think of the setting or plot itself together, so that we're both agreed on it. Please contribute to the plot, otherwise it will be one sided and one of us will get bored.

I play both males and females, although my female characters are more thought through than my male ones, thus I prefer to play as a female more. Usually, I use my main character + a bunch of secondary characters, so my main may change throughout the RP if the plot calls for it.

Romance is not a must, but it allows for more possibilities within the RP. You can use romance for drama and plot purposes, and that keeps the story going. I like mature romances, so no love-on-first-sight bullshit after the 3rd post. Characters may or may not get along with each other, and forcing the romance upon our characters is just strange to me.

When it comes to characters all I am asking from you is realism. Realistically developed characters who fit the setting of our choosing. A character had to have been shaped by the previous and current events of their lives, making them into who they are. So, a character of noble birth would not be running off into the forest to find fairies (unless the character is like 3), they would be bound by the expectations of their family and thus forced to act in a certain manner. Same applies to characters of any other background. Give me well thought out characters and I will love you forever.

OKAY. I'm pretty sure this is everything I wanted to note before moving onto the ideas.

I have no specific preference at the moment of what idea I'd like to use, but here are the plots I have at the moment with a short description of what they have:

Modern

• One or both of our characters are spies, agents for different government organisations, that happened to get stuck together after their mission was compromised on foreign land.
• MC is a mercenary gang member. The gang is hired for assassinations, smuggling, spying and kidnappings. YC is a law enforcer who is undercover, aiming infiltrate MC's gang and get information of their employers and backers.

Modern fantasy

• A winged species had invaded Earth and wiped nearly all of humanity. YC saves MC after having witnessed MC be attacked by these so called angels. Either one of our characters is a wingless "angel". Now they have to survive a post-apocalyptic world where food is scarce and humans are at war with one another for resources.
• The setting is in our modern times, with a twist. People are able to use magic. Witches and wizards exist among people, they are able to use elemental magic or magic through the usage of runes. Most of these gifted people go insane, the magic making their minds very unstable and soon they turn against the society. Thus, those who are still sane are under constant watch of special police forces that keep these people in check. YC can be one of such magic users and MC, who is a member of the police force, is assigned to yours to YC's sanity in check.
  
• A vampire setting. Can be anything, anywhere, about anyone. At the moment, the idea behind the plot will be an investigation into several bloody murders. The default setting would be a society where the existence of vampires is known but vaguely, where humans use vampires as means of assisted suicide or a way to start their life anew, by serving the vampire. This servitude could, however, have a dire effect on the human, and they are turned into a mindless creature (thrall) that only responds to the commands of its creator. Without supervision, thralls are extremely territorial and bloodthirsty. The murders in the RP will be thought to be the work of thralls, and the only vampire in the area would be MC, so the blame would fall on them by default. YC can be investigating the murders or be involved through other means. Craving this one.

Medieval fantasy

• MC is a bodyguard, who is hired by YC. The details of this plot are fully open to discussion, as YC can be of a different background with different reasons for hiring a bodyguard. Can involve a civil unrest or a full-scale war.
• An arranged political marriage. This plot involves a lot of court intrigues, backstabbing and warring kingdoms. YC can either be involved in the political marriage to MC or be someone not related to the royal family. A very open plot, preferably set in Turkish/Ottoman Empire setting. Craving this one.

Post-apocalyptic

• Something along the lines of The Last of Us and Fallout. The setting is fully open as I don't have anything particular in mind that I'd like to do, though I'd like the RP to have a certain element of survival and such.

Sci-fi

• I'd love to do a space travel story. It can be along the lines of Star Wars or Mass Effect, where our characters are involved in a large scale war. It can be a spy story, with backstabbing and secrets. A heist to steal some artifact. Anything. Craving this one like you won't believe.
• What if you could bring a loved one back in a form of an android? Character A loses their lover. Character B is an android, manufactured to look and act like A's late lover. However, the memories weren't implemented correctly and the personality matrix is faulty. A now has to live with B, a physical copy of their lover with fragmented memories of them together, and B struggles to find who they truly are - an android, or a person in their own right.

Spoiler: First person post example

Alone.

A primal part of me screamed out in fear as it watched Nathan and the child bolted out of the hut, Nathan’s retreating footsteps barely audible. It urged me to follow. Demanded that I save myself and leave the oczu in the hut.

I did no such thing. It was too late to run.

The moment the third oczu broke through the floor, sending a fountain of splinters and broken wood to the ceiling, the way to the door was closed off. When the oczu flung itself through the window and turned the chair I held to a pile of useless broken wood, I had rolled to the side and my shoulder rammed into the wall painfully. Before me, two oczu became a mass of twitching limbs and sharp tendrils of shadow. The one I had impaled was free, my spear yanked out by the flailing bodies.

With little time to think, I shot to my feet and reached for my spear. The only weapon I had at my disposal. It was as cold as ice in my hand. The third creature, the one that had come through the floor, leapt at me, its many eyes focused on my own.

Once again, I felt those painful hooks, stiff and icy and dead. They pulled from within my head and the world became a blur as though these creatures truly had their fingers behind my eyes and were about to gouge them out. It was painful, so painful and wrong and disgusting.

Cold corpse fingers of the oczu grabbed at my leg and yanked me down. Air was expelled from my lungs as I fell and was dragged towards the creature. Pieces of glass and clay and wood scratched at my back.

I kicked at the creature, struggled to break free, and its grip hardened. It caught my other leg and pulled me faster towards it, holding both my ankles so hard the bones were close to breaking. Panic began to rise within my chest as the spearhead missed its mark on one of the oczu’s many hands and instead pierced the shadow body. In that moment, the other two oczu freed themselves of each other, their eyes turned to me, and they jumped.

A hand grabbed my elbow, another my shoulder. Several reached for my spear. They pulled with unbelievable strength.

Trapped. I was trapped. Unable to move, my legs and arms clenched in rotten limbs.

My own would be a part of them soon.

The thought was terrifying.

Just as the third oczu jumped onto me, I lifted my hips and turned to the side in one harsh movement that sent waves of excruciating pain through my trapped limbs. The creature landed on me as I, desperate to free myself, pushed my only free arm into its body.

It burnt, I think. The pain at that point had become a constant, numb sensation. If it screamed, I did not know. It certainly did tremble when I grabbed at the straw mat and flung it at the creatures. Salt and silver fell onto them and burnt where it touched. It stank of rotten and burning human flesh; the stench stung my eyes, made my stomach lurch.

The one holding my legs had been the first one hit by the mat and it loosened the hold on my legs. Free, I kicked the oczu away and stifled a groan as my arm was pulled too far back, the oczu holding it refusing to let go even as its body melted away under the mixture of salt and silver.

White spots flashed in the corners of my vision as I swung my spear with my only good arm at the creatures and sliced the hand off at the wrist. It shrieked in its own strange fashion, a cacophony of hisses, and flung itself at me once more.

I did not linger, already mid-jump myself the moment the hold on my limp arm had loosened. I slid across the floor and ducked underneath the fallen bookcase. It was at an angle, the space beneath just enough for me to fit through and curl up to make myself as small as possible. The wood had broken at the top and embedded itself deep into the wall. A perfect refuge.

But for how long?

As I lay there, clutching my spear, I tried to move my left arm. It refused to obey and it occurred to me with cold certainty that it was dislocated or broken at the shoulder.

The oczu recovered quickly and fought to crawl under the bookcase and I stabbed blindly at their arms and legs with my spear. Sometimes it landed a hit and I pulled it back before the creatures could take the weapon from me.

Alone. Trapped.

At least Nathan had listened to me and ran. It was comforting to know that he and the child were safe. After all, the oczu were lured here by me. By Marek’s death.

I had curled into a small ball by the time the creatures retreated, one by one. I did not even hear or see them leave, for my eyes were shut tight and I pressed one ear to the floor and covered the other. The hissing was unbearable. It drove me mad.

And then, it simply stopped. Vanished. Singsong chirping filled the silence instead, so bright and welcome it was that I relaxed my hand and opened my eyes, tired. Soft blue light fell in uneven rays through the broken bookcase. Dust twirled in playful flakes and it shimmered in the light like diamond powder. Strange smell tickled my nose – it smelled of the ocean.

I thought I was dead. The thought was welcoming in its own strange way. But then, with sudden clarity, I understood what had coloured the air with mist of white and starlight.

Salt and silver.

Wood crunched beneath someone’s heavy boots and plate clinked with each step the stranger made.

“Is anyone here?” He called out, hesitant. He did not expect an answer and I gave none, too stunned and shocked to even move.

I was alive.

I was sure the soldier was as surprised as I was at this realization. The moment I had stirred beneath the bookcase, shifting the shards of shattered to pieces jars and clay vases, the hiss of a sword above prompted me to speak.

“Here,” I breathed. My throat my dry and my voice was a mere whisper. That was enough, thankfully, for the soldier to sheathe his weapon and lift the broken bookcase from me.

Though my body protested, I got up. The soldier helped me up and stood by me, silent, perhaps overcoming a shock of his own at seeing me alive and practically unscathed.

“Your arm is dislocated,” he said matter-of-factly and I had probably given him a particularly nasty look for he raised a hand in apology.

“Snap it back,” I told him. When he did not reach to help me, I turned of my own accord towards him with the arm I could not move. “Do it.” And he snapped my arm into its socket.

The pain was blinding. The world turned white for an instant and my knees buckled. With steady arms the soldier held onto me and helped me walk out of the hut, where two men clad in the same armour as the one holding me stood above a dead body. In unison, they turned and hurried to me.

While one went inside to retrieve my spear and coat, the other two helped me onto a horse. Once I sat atop it, clutching at my still painful shoulder, they went to pick up their fallen comrade and put him on another horse, where his dead body lay limp and lifeless and drops of blood fell slowly to the ground. The remains of the oczu lay limp on the ground, still smouldering from where the salt and silver had touched them, and their limbs were sliced into ribbons by the soldier’s swords. Broken spears that stuck out like bones out of the creature’s backs. It stank of rot even as the soldiers set the hut and the dead oczu aflame.

I watched it all in strange detachment. With a delay, I had noticed how one of the soldiers climbed onto the horse behind me and draped my coat over my shoulders. He must have thought I was cold; I wasn’t. Even though my shirt was ripped, I scarcely felt the cold morning wind brush over my scratched bloody skin.

We set out on silence. The man behind me kept a firm hold on the reins and kept the horse as steady as he could, perhaps afraid I would fall off. This steadiness was a welcome change, though a strange one. With the hissing gone, I felt that something was amiss and blinked often, eager to get rid of the lingering feeling of the hooks within my head. The silence helped, as did the fresh air and the brightening sky. Finally, I could feel the cold wind and moved my arms through the sleeves of my coat and with slow, shaky fingers, closed the clasps. It hid the evidence of my fight with the oczu only slightly.

Long bloody claw marks were left along my arms. Black and blue bruises bloomed in shapes of a hand around my shoulders and forearms, and my boots sported multiple scratches along the soft worn leather. My hair had almost come loose from the braid and small shards of wood and glass were stuck in the braid, sticking out at odd angles. The morning sun rays played over the glass and made my coat shimmer with silver dust.

Slowly, I glanced to the side where one of the soldiers rode a few feet away. He was holding my spear.

“Did you see a man with a child nearby?” I asked, breaking the silence for the first time.

“Yes,” the one behind me replied. “They are with Squad Leader Brightwin.”

The name was not familiar, though the armour the soldier wore was. The Commander’s men. A patrol in charge of this area. A messenger was probably sent from the village to warn them of a monster’s attack following a murder.

When we arrived, the soldiers at my side dismounted though the one behind me remained seated. His hands clenched hard on the reins in front of me.

Nathan and the child were safe, unscathed thankfully, and were standing beside a man who wore leather armour. “Are you two alright?” I asked my charges softly, careful to hide the dull pain in my muscles. Though I supposed it was pointless; the bloody smears along my arms and the bruises were hard to hide beneath elbow length sleeves and I could only guess how my face looked like to them. Probably ashen.

“Bradley didn’t make it,” one of the soldiers said gravely. Neither of them looked at their dead companion laying atop his horse. The saddle and iron and silver accents were tinted bright crimson.

“Is this your bodyguard?” The man behind me asked Nathan and remained firmly seated in the saddle behind me. Trapping me. I couldn’t move even if I wanted to, anyway. My legs and arms screamed in painful protest each time I shifted on the saddle; I still clutched my injured shoulder.

“I am,” I answered instead and looked at their Squad Leader. Neither his name nor his appearance seemed familiar to me in any way. “Thank you for helping,” I said to him and breathed in deeply, knowing the answer and yet asking anyway, “Are you to bring me to the Commander?”

Murder was an offense not easily forgiven in these parts. It still occurred and it was dealt with accordingly in each village and town and city. The judgement passed by whoever oversaw the particular area the murderer was from. My case was different; I was an outsider. The Commander was to deal with me personally, and while I knew I would not be charged and no harm would come to me, the process was lengthy and troublesome.

On top of that, Nathan was bound to be pulled into it as a witness. As my employer.

Already exhausted, I couldn’t bring myself to imagine how Ellenia was going to react at seeing me accused of murder with a Knight and a child in my care.

Spoiler: Third person post example

“You are his, after all.”

The words cut the air with their coldness like a sharp knife. They spoke the truth and it did not hurt, but rather worked a reminder of a status that Irene refused to accept. So her eyes narrowed for a moment only at Kydoimos and her lips thinned. When he spoke again and turned to follow Galene, Irene regained her calm and looked at the ground for a moment, palms on her knees.

Hunting was not a skill that she was not sure of. It fed her for years. Leon, among many others, had taught her how to set up snares and dig traps. This was not something one could learn overnight and it was a skill that had to be perfected over the years, when food sometimes was scarce and its lack would serve as a warning that it could happen again.

Galene knew how to hunt. Or rather, Irene thought the girl did. She had shot a crow, not tracked it. Arrows and a bow was never a weapon that Irene preferred, thinking it too unpredictable and slow, but perhaps it was her own inability to actually hit something that made her not like the weapon.

Still, personal feelings aside, Galene was allowed free rein in the forest to hunt. And Irene was not.

No matter, Irene thought as she pushed herself up and followed Galene and Kydoimos, staying a few feet behind them.

There were other ways to prove her worth. Hunting was but one of the skills needed on this mountain. There were others, ones that would not arouse suspicion of her past. While Galene was a useful ally, Irene trusted her as much as she trusted a rock to fly far on a windy day.

The first year with Hisraad was the worst of her life. Worse than the first few months of when Irene’s life had drastically changed and she had to flee her country to save her life, dragged by Leon who never spoke and never looked back.

So Irene planned, waited and fought in the end only to be shot down, literally. By an arrow that marred the back of her shoulder in a scar that should have been much less in size had they removed the bolt before it started to rot and spread infection. After that foolish and rash attempt of escaping, she’d stopped. Stopped caring. Stopped planning and keeping herself in shape.

Time had eaten away at her strength and her will, and so she waited and took on a passive role of an obedient servant. Not truly choosing to run or stay, Irene balanced on the edge and hated herself for it.

Hated herself for being one of those indecisive people that she’d always looked down upon.

Even now, she chose to go with the current and see where it took her. Not truly choosing to plead her case to Hardeep, thinking it was a waste of breath. Not truly trying to prove her worth, choosing to rely on Galene’s power of persuasion.

It was time to end this.

One glance at the forest and the skies above was enough to prove her suspicions correct. The snow was soon to fall in large flakes, burying the ground and the forest, giving freedom to creatures that lurked in the snowstorms and fed off the corpses of those who died from intense cold. A few weeks, no more, and then they’d be stuck in that little village with limited food and watchful eyes. It would be impossible to escape. It would be suicidal to escape.

It was time to take a more active role.

The question that she’d asked Kydoimos, as rhetorical as it was, was given an answer on the way to the cabin as they passed through the village. Among the mountain folk, dressed in layers of hides and furs and waterproofed leathers, were others. Riders and their slaves became a common sight and Irene kept her eyes down and listened, instead. Many languages surrounded them, some she’d recognized instantly and others she had to listen to and search her memory.

Hunting could wait. She’d arrange something else, plan for a loophole. Bargaining was a different matter. She knew most of the languages that the merchants used and by their appearance alone she could determine where they’d come from and what they were offering. There were not many, only three or five different men, but it was enough to trade goods with. Had there been only one, she’d pester him enough to trade with her.

It was time to fight against the current and do it on her own, otherwise she’d hate herself for having lost an opportunity to escape.

Are you willing to use others?

Irene looked at Galene and Kydoimos, their backs to her they continued towards their little cabin. Both were so young and shared a relationship forbidden by most, if not all. Both naïve to a certain extent. Both possibly good people with their own principles and morals, their past.

She chose not to answer this question.

When they neared the cabin, Warren had just arrived to its door. Carrying a large wooden basin in both hands filled to the brim with water, Warren had halted to a stop and splashed some of the basin’s contents onto the porch. The blush that coloured his cheeks did not look like it was from the cold. Looking back and forth between Kydoimos and Galene, the guard seemed to have been wondering if it was appropriate to bow and let them pass, or go in first to bring in the water.

Bowing as much as the basin permitted him without splashing water on himself, Warren quickly entered the cabin. Irene followed suit after Kydoimos and Galene and, once inside, watched Warren put down the basin by the fire. There was a pot above it and Orien was working with the pestle, mashing something inside the pot. Warren had straightened, put his hands onto his back, and cracked it with a sigh that he was careful to mask as Kydoimos was nearby.

“Do you need more?” Warren asked and flexed his fingers, probably tense after pulling the bucket from the well and carrying the basin back and forth to the cabin.

The guard turned around and eyed the crow in Galene’s hands. His lips pursed he turned around, no doubt thinking it disgusting to eat such an unappealing animal. He rummaged through some bag and held it open for Warren.

“The…” Warren glanced at Irene as if in thought and then turned back to Orien, “hare can be cooked. Should we?”

The meat would be a good addition to their meal. It had been a while since Irene’s had it, hare or any other kind of game.

Ignoring the empty pit that was her stomach, Irene crossed the cabin room and was about to settle down onto the floor, when Warren had looked in her direction and pointed to a pile of clothing.

“It is yours,” he said coolly and turned back to Orien.

Blinking in confusion at the man, Irene doubled back and knelt by the pile. Clothing lay stacked there, all folded and intermingled with furs and some pelts. Everything was thin to touch and Irene would have frowned at the given items had she not been admiring the colour.

She let her hand slide under a piece of fabric and looked at it lie on her tanned arm, its violet contrasting with her olive skin tone. It was a lighter colour than she used to wear once, but it mattered little. The thinness mattered little.

A warm feeling spread through her chest and Irene felt as she did when she was flying with Balin. Hopeful.

Standing up, Irene chose several pieces of clothing and stepped back to lie them down onto the floor by her feet. She’d picked a blouse and jacked with a high collar, partly for the tattoo on her chest and the slave’s collar at her neck.

Though before she undid the sash, Irene thought it better not to undress before so many possible viewers. Nudity was not an issue, but not everyone could react to the scars on her body and the ink on her chest with a calm demeanour. Mountain knows, Galene would have a heap of questions after seeing either.

So Irene had picked up the chosen clothing and entered one of the rooms on the side, feeling Warren’s wary look in her direction. She’d returned a short while after, wearing an attire that was a layering of clothes that sat surprisingly well on her. Loose and free, the attire consisted of two blouses layered on one another, tucked into a thicker pair of pants and then finished off with a long to her mid-thigh jacket secured by a wide sash coiled around her waist.

The bone comb, usually hidden in her braid, was now wrapped into the folds of the jacket and hidden by the sash, away from anyone’s prying eyes. She’d have to find a better place for it later.

Experimentally, Irene rolled back her shoulders to confirm that the clothing didn’t tug or pull, she ignored the fact that it was several sizes larger than her. Oddly enough, it suited her.

Or maybe, it was the way she wore it. Irene had almost brightened at having changed into something different than the usual crème coloured linens that slaves wore. She appeared almost…confident. Like how she used to be, before the leather was wrapped around her neck like a noose.

Turning around, she noticed Warren staring. Quirking a brow, Irene cocked her head. Warren opened his mouth and closed it again, after having thought better not to say what he was thinking. Instead, Irene was the one who spoke.

“Do you have a thread and needle?” She asked.

“Uh,” Warren muttered and blinked in confusion, certainly not expecting such a question. “Yes. My mother’s given me some. There is…light purple thread in that bag. Why?” Warily, he eyed Irene as if she’d thought of some vile way to use a needle and a thread.

“Embroidery,” she said simply.

“What?” Warren looked taken aback by the answer.

“It is a part of my tradition. Is that a problem?”

“No. But you should ask Sir Hardeep for permission.”

It was doubtful that Hardeep was going to decline the clothing given to a slave being broidered, but Irene simply said, “Alright,” and headed across the room towards the pile of clothing that was now hers. She’d folded her previous outfit and brought the pile towards the wall. There lay several pieces of clothing of superb quality; its leathers sturdy and lined with thicker fur.

“What is this?” Irene asked hesitantly and waved a hand at the leathers as Warren turned to look at her.

“Lady Azar Sohrab had generously gifted us these. They are for Sir Hardeep and Sir Kydoimos,” Warren said sternly.

“Gifts?” Furrowing her brows, Irene regarded the items in confusion. No one gave us such good quality items without expecting something in return. Whoever this Lady Azar Sohrab was, she was either immensely stupid and naïve, or cunning.

Warren only shrugged. “It is not for us to decline them. Sir Hardeep accepted the gift.”

A simplistic way of dealing with the situation, but there was no other. Warren was doing his job.

The words of the gift’s origins had reminded Irene of another rider was more of an immediate threat than a woman who might possibly be not all too bright. Throwing a glance at Galene as Irene had set down the pile of clothing, she wondered how to get the girl’s attention.

“Galene,” Irene said, “can you help me bring more water in?” It was the best excuse that Irene could come up with. “There might be someone there who’d wish to do me harm.” That was a valid reason. Several slaves had already looked at Galene and Irene, wearing their warm pelts, with hungry eyes full of envy and resentment as they shivered in thin linens. Not that Irene needed protection; Galene knew as much.

Irene only hoped that Galene would get the hint that someone was no other than Ammon, a man to whom they lied for no other reason than to protect Irene’s pride.

“I can go with you,” Warren said.

“You need to protect Lord Kydoimos.” Irene tried to sound as calmly as she could and looked at Galene and nodded at the doorway. “Let’s go.”


***


Azar had given Hardeep a warm smile that transferred to her eyes and made them gleam. Maybe it was the firelight reflecting in the amber of her irises.

“Lene should prove useful, then,” Azar said calmly. “It brings her immense pleasure to talk about her homeland. I sense sadness there, too. Talking of the land she left eases that pain.”

Easing closer, Azar leaned forward while still holding the cup against her thigh with both hands. “I must let you in on a secret, Lord Hardeep,” Azar began, a smile still on her lips. Her voice had become quiet, a playful whisper. “I listen to her speak those tales for no reason other than to improve her accent. Sands of the desert, that accent is hard on the ear.”

Leaning back, Azar had lifted the mug to her lips and took a sip while still looking at Hardeep. The corners of her lips were still curved in a genuine smile. They sat so closely to one another on the bear belt that their knees brushed against one another with the smallest of movements.

“Indeed I have,” she answered his question. “It was sent to me by a relative of my dearest aunt. Bai She Suzhen of Anderfell, in Riverside. That woman comes from a land far east from here and sends my aunt gifts of tea. Selfish as I am, I thought it best to take this gift with me. To keep myself warm during cold winter nights.”

Setting down the cup onto the small chair, Azar pushed her hair back and it rippled like wild tongues of flame. “My ladies-in-waiting believe it to be a way to take a piece of home with me. Romanticising my selfish actions, no doubt.”

Glancing away from the man at her side, Azar straightened and craned her neck to cast a glance around the room. Separated from the rest of the cabin by the partitions, the area was dimly lit and empty save for the two riders. It was completely private.

There was shuffling to the side. Clothes rustled, someone’s muffled words were barely audible over the crackling of the hearth.

“Lene.” Azar did not lift her voice though it was authoritative and cut crisply through the air.

Shuffling of long skirts and faint footsteps alerted the woman to the servant’s presence. Lene circled around the partition across the hearth and stopped a respectable distance away. With hands folded before her, the girl bowed her head and said a quiet, “Yes, Madam?” under her breath.

“Do come closer,” Azar said. The servant obeyed and stopped when the soft orange firelight lit her features. Shadows danced across her skin and dress; the orange light lit her silky hair in an auburn hue. Lene knelt down onto the floor and kept her back straight as she smoothed the skirt over her lap.

“Lene, Lord Hardeep has asked me a question which I cannot answer for lack of knowledge. It regards the slave woman of whom you’ve told me about. The Izmarian one.”

Lene lifted her eyes and glanced at Hardeep. “I meant no offence, My Lord,” she said in a heavily accented Crubian and let her eyes focus on the floor once more. “It is surprising to see another of my people in these lands.”

“How did you know she was from your homeland?” Azar took the mug once more and pressed it to her lips, taking a sip. “There was no clothing like yours on her shoulders.”

“The skin and eye colour, Madam. I was not sure for the lack of a second braid. Our tradition forbids women from wearing our hair short before marriage, and the braids must be no less than two in number. One is reserved for the men of the Warrior Caste.”

“Does that mean she was a warrior?” Azar glanced at Hardeep, recalling her inquiry about the rumours.

“No, Madam. Women are forbidden from wielding a weapon. There are no women in the Izmarian Guard.”

Azar was looking at the mug that she’d set down onto her lap. Little bits of herbs floated at the top of the tea. “When you were brought into my homestead, you insisted on wearing red and white for these are the colours of the Izmarian nobility. Is that correct?”

“Yes, Madam.”

“What are the colours of the Warrior Caste?”

“Purple, Madam. Purple broidered with gold. That woman was not wearing them, for she is a slave.”

Azar hummed and looked up at Lene. “Of course. There is one other matter. Lord Hardeep has mentioned a mark on the woman’s shoulder. Did you recognize it?”

The entire time, the servant girl remained calm and composed. However, at the mention of the mark, a gasp escaped Lene’s lips and she leaned back and lifted a hand to her mouth. She settled the hand just below her neck and looked at Azar with wide eyes that appeared black as the firelight danced across her green irises.

“You do know of it?” Azar lifted her brows at the servant.

“Pardon my rudeness, Lord Passi, but did the mark look like this?” Lene asked quickly and looked at Hardeep with an ashen face and wide eyes, her lips parted and hand clenched over her chest.

Lene stood up promptly and turned around; the skirts of her dress flared and settled down. White broidery depicting a very detailed mountain range stood out vividly against the red background. The thread weaved through the fabric in curves and angles, intricate in its design with many details that caught the eye of those willing to look. It depicted a beautiful mountain range, nearly identical to the mark on Irene’s chest.

We do not need to stick to the plots described above, as we can brainstorm our own or maybe you have some ideas that you'd like to use.



PM me if you'd like to RP c:

Hi! I’d love to rp!​

 

[Yvern]

I've sent you a PM

 

[Lenaara]

Bump.

 

[Lenaara]

Bump.