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I hope that you’re doing well. I’m here looking for partners who’ll join in my quest for great and fun story-telling!
First, I’d like to say that I’m a reader and a good story is what I’m after in a role-play. For as much as I love writing, I enjoy traversing the imaginary planes and motion pictures of the mind so I wish to find a partner who share the same tenet. Someone who can weave a scene and implore a mood beyond just casual dialogue. While stylistically the words may be different, I’m looking some people with whom I can share, inspire, and write stories with.
I’m not too particular with spelling and minor grammar mistakes, but I do want to see creativity in the sentence structure, word choice, imagery, anything to do with the written prose itself. It really does come down to the quality of writing and not the quantity because my main motivation for RP is writing skills growth through exploration, which is to say, a little more serious than casual role-players. But I do love casual conversation. I like building trust and friendly rapport with my partners too. Tell me about your day, I don’t mind. ^ ^
Although, a little forewarning, I adore long prose. But I understand that everyone might not want to write novella style, as I do. It’s why I don’t require a word count; however, I do want to see effort. I‘ll give it my best shot and I hope you give it your best as well.
When I’m relaxed and on a roll, I can write forever in long sessions. But when I’m under stress or have other priorities, I usually need more time to go through the process. I’m still aiming for consistency for post frequency, but that might not always be the case. There may be a week or two that I miss posting due to exams, work, and other IRL factors; however, I usually will communicate a quick message when it’s the case. I hope you’re okay with a slower pace. I tend to veer away from rapid-fire because it takes me time to compose a good response. At most, I can probably reply once to twice a week. If that’s too slow, we might not be best suited for each other and that’s okay too. Good luck in your search!
Outside of the prose itself, I’m someone who also enjoys the exchange of ideas in the writing process. I don’t mind throughly discussing the details and literary aspects of story-telling - from world building to character creation. I hope to find partners who are also just as engaged. We could generate ideas and be good sounding boards for each other.
In all honesty, I don’t mind having extra input and even constructive criticism when it comes to this matter. The best ideas are the ones that have been filtered through multiple lenses to cover the scope of the world. Most importantly, I think having that feedback is how I can improve myself and I know I’m young (and have much to learn) but I hope I can do the same and inspire you too. Let’s grow together!
Thank you for reading this far. I hope that I still have your attention. If you’d like to role-play, please include your favourite season in a message. It just helps me to distinguish which people have genuine interest enough to stick by me.
I’d really like to thank you for your time. Happy writing!
➟ nickname: disc/disco or avery (my name) ➟ pronouns: she/her(s) ➟ my age: 18, i’m a uni student (architecture major) ➟ time-zone: gmt-5 (est) ➟ word count: 600-1k+ ➟ gender/pairings: open to all, lgbtq+ inclusive ➟ post frequency: 1-2 posts weekly ➭ most replies will probably be on tues, fri, or sat and posted after 6-7pm (1800-1900 hrs) ➟ role-play medium: pms or threads ➟ contact: pms please ➟ will not write: abuse, explicit content, incest ➟ ghost-friendly: yeppers, no harm, no foul
➟ genres/themes; action-adventure, dark and more gritty plots, aspects of groundedness to reality, fantasy (high and low), sci-fi/futuristic, space travel, aliens, supernatural/paranormal, horror and suspense/psychological thriller, crime and mysteries, survival, drama and slice of life, romance**
**not necessary, i don’t write romance on its own often, if at all, as it falls short of the story depths that i want to explore. however, i’m open to it, if the plot has interesting enough elements. i do enjoy something well-paced and relationships coming from a natural progression of the plot/character development because the payoff would be amazing!
tldr: if romance, then plot = slow-burn with a good sprinkle of bittersweet angst and tooth-rotting fluff
➟ colonial space life; navigating normal/domestic life in a foreign planet, maybe with nation-building elements (setting social norms, digging into the culture and history of the colony, whether there’s even a governing body or not, those sort of things)
➟ cyberspace hackers; human consciousness travelling/forced in simulated realities like the matrix, data drives of consciousness perpetuating a cycle of eternal existence or something similar to/influenced by neuromancer by william gibson and altered carbon by richard morgan
➟ gritty westerns; lone-gun fighters protecting their freedom and autonomy from army rangers/soldiers, standoffs due to territorial disputes, outlaws conducting stagecoach robberies, mobile encampments for railroad building, can be intertwined with native american myths/beasts for a fantasy twist
➟ medieval wars; fractured kingdoms, dishonoured knights, displaced settlers dealing with brutal realities and the war’s aftermaths, insurgency from magical creatures against humanity
➟ gothic crime/mysteries; serial killers in the late 20th century featuring victorian forensic technology, could introduce vampires/werewolves for a supernatural twist, something a kin to the show, the alienist
➟ past or contemporary espionage; stolen government secrets, thwarting a coup d'etat, activating sleeper agents, time-travelling to an alternate history/time-line for a sci-fi twist, a plot similar to the man in the high castle (although i haven’t yet read this book, but i’ve seen the series)
➟ pastoral journey; going back to simplicity, travelling shepherds over green hills and floral-filled valleys, no set destination, a case of wanderlust, a search of self identity, something character driven like the alchemist by paulo coelho
➟ jungle survival/adventure; adventure-survival in the wild, lost in the jungle with dangerous creatures/animals, cursed ruins, traps, and hostile natives, going on an indiana jones like quest in the depths of the amazonian forrests
➟ an original plot from you; i tend to be more on the open-minded side of things. i have my own plots laid out on the following tab, but if it doesn’t suit your fancy, try me with one of your own. perhaps, we can come to a compromise
➟ i’d prefer playing ocs in fandom plots. i find playing canons a little restricting because i love to play around elements that are already established and re-interpret the events to make something fresh and new. i also wouldn’t want to ruin anyone’s perception of their favourite character in case my depiction isn’t up to par. sorry! ^ ^;
however, i can temporarily npc certain interactions with canon characters if the situation/scene calls for it. i also don’t mind playing against canon characters, if that’s your desired route. although, a little forewarning, i tend to be rather picky on fandom rps. i love original plots to death, but if i happen to catch an interesting plot or i’m just craving something here, i’ll highlight it.
➟ anime: Serial Experiments Lain, Inuyashiki, Death Note, Castlevania, Made in Abyss, ATLA (Avatar: The Last Airbender)
➟ movies/tv: Blade Runner, Inception** (see Landscape Plot), MCU/Marvel (Avengers mostly), Watchmen, The Umbrella Academy, The 100, Westworld, Godless, Hell on Wheels, The Witcher, The Last Kingdom, Into the Badlands, The Walking Dead
➟ games: Red Dead Redemption, LA Noire, Mafia, Yakuza, Outlast, Dead Space, Mass Effect, Assassin’s Creed, Watch Dogs, Final Fantasy VII (I’ve only played the remake. Sadge), Monster Hunter, Skyrim, Bloodborne
➟ Modern Apocalypse, Survival after a Viral Outbreak
The collective essence of life lies deep within the lines of connection that flow beneath the surface. A sown seed germinates, covered in crumbling dust and ashes, when rainwater trickles down to nourish it. As pliant branches protrude from its stems and fan around evergreen leaves, it exchanges breath with air. The carbon dioxide it draws, the oxygen it expels. All of it feeds into a larger cycle of being.
Existence. It thrives on the strength of its systems, from the large expanse of biodiversity to the smallest atoms of organelles in a cell. So quite naturally, when the weakest part of the chain gives, the rest of its links will come tumbling down like dominoes. Falling simultaneously and culminating into a bigger mess when left unattended to…
Months have past since the outbreak began. The world’s most brilliant minds have pooled together their knowledge and experience to prevent further spread of the virus. While it’s mechanisms and modes of transmission are well-known, the strain is advancing. The incubation period are getting as short as a few hours. Very little outlives it.
It starts with inflammation. Red patches of skin that sprout in anger where they haven’t previously appeared. Some even mistake it for some kind of allergic reaction. That is until, it bursts with fluids, lymph draining the body from toxins. But at that point, it’s too late.
In most cases, open wounds get infected. Body temperatures raise way beyond the normal range to compensate for the skin barriers lost to the battle. If the infection and fever doesn’t strike, the organs will simply fail from shock and dysregulation.
In the beginning modern medicine was shining its light, providing the masses with comfort, pharmaceutical companies experiencing stock growth like never before. But the virus, like its counterparts, began to evolve, developing solutions that would curb the progress that the cure proclaimed.
Death was beginning to shift its weight with the balance of life. Mass funerals, politely put, swept nation upon nation. Bodies were stacked into mountains and burnt like non-recyclable waste accumulating in landfills. A wretched stench filled the air, much worse than rotten eggs and produce, as they hit straight to the gut.
Each one represented a loss. A father, a mother, a sibling, a friend. There were no shortages of melted wax from candles that lined the asphalt where cars used to travel. Grief became commonplace and the fear of its predecessor sang siren songs for the ambulances and service vehicles replacing the hearse that would deliver the deceased to their final destination. Yet, this wasn’t the dirge that encompassed the finality of humanity.
Gun shots. Shattered glass. The guttural screams ripped from throats of unsuspecting civilians.
Terror crashed and waned in waves as the world turned on its axis when the number of able bodies dwindled beyond those buried under scorched Earth. Grid lines became unmanned. Food productions ceased. Mass panic led to an even accelerated genocide as man turned on man, survival at the forefront of everyone’s mind.
This is where we stand today.
So what are you willing to do in order to survive?
Muse A and Muse B would be survivors teaming up in this scenario. I’d like to keep the options for their backstory open. But my main idea that perhaps one of them is immune to the virus and has little survival skills while the other is not immune and has a lot more survival skills, ie. a scientist who is quite knowledgable but has little experience with fire arms paired with an officer or a survival expert that has a lot more experience with navigating the world. However, both their objectives would be the same - to get to a rumoured safe haven that other survivors populate.
A second arc to the story could be that when they find that safe haven, it’s not all as it seems either. Whether it’s a cult or merely a ploy to attract survivors to kill and loot them afterwards, we can further discuss too.
This plot would also be great for people who want to play multiple characters/play doubles. The characters that I have made for the plot are a virologist and a police chief. Each has their own background, but we can plot when they can meet up as a group together.
➟ Crime, Action, Changing of the guards in Mafia
The rotating blades of the ceiling fan muffled heavy-laden silence that surrounded the individuals gathered along the edges of the round, mahogany table. Despite their proximity, their minds drifted far, deep breaths accompanied their refusal to speak to one another. Barely illuminated by the warm glow of the light above, printed papers sat a top a manila folder, a source of secondary light against the darkness that crept all the way through the far corners of the room.
The individuals were swallowed by the night. The faint silhouettes of their austere expression would make an intruder think twice about interrupting the conversation that was yet to be had. Discounting the rise and fall of their chests, they sat in statuesque form, a stare down against whatever piece of varnished wood their eyes casted on.
Carlo was the first to lay his fedora down. Shadows from the woollen fabric obscured the words of the sheets underneath. No one moved an inch. Out of his pockets, he fished for a cigarette and a lighter. It was a nervous habit.
Aside from the click and a slow intake, sounds remained absent. It would only be a matter of time until someone addressed the elephant in the room, unless, they intended to spend an eternity writing letters to communicate between them. Even then, perhaps, it would still dissolve into a waiting game.
Unable to withstand the discomfort nipping at the back of his mind, the man let the cigarette fall into the hard slab of concrete, stamping away at anxiety that he needed to overcome. It was certain that no one wanted to be here, at least, not under these circumstances.
“So who’s it gonna be?”
A small glint of his golden cuff links caught the light enough to bring attention to the red stained hem of his sleeve. His outstretched hand palmed the top ridge of his hat only to slowly bring it to the crown of his head again. He felt its weight against his skin as it drug him down, knees folding in, sitting like an anchor on the docks. Without a choice, they paid their dues to the ferryman who guided them to safe shores, but not everyone made it on board.
The retreating outline of Carlo’s arm revealed the string of sentences they were reluctant to accept. There it was plain as day, officialized by the report stolen by a footman, completely stamped and sealed.
This is to awknowledge the death of…
If you ask different people, you’ll get different responses. There will be plenty who would say that he was generous. He looked after his people, covered under the cosca, and he was ruthless to the rest. His governance gravitated towards the enforcement of tradition and correction of injustices by those whose eyes were sleighted by blindfolds bound by the powers that be.
During his wake, his companions and former associates wore their faces in grim reserve. Thin lips pursed, eyes glinting, but cheeks dry for such public displays of emotion were only privy to those who knew him most intimately - his wife, children, and grandchildren. In his younger years, they recalled, he played fast and loose with the rules, sporting a busted lip and a swollen eye like a badge of honour. There was certainly a bark to his bite, a snap to his step, an impulsiveness possessed by all young men who thought they were invincible. But time, in this profession, was a very cruel mistress, discarding those who stood in its path like food scraps in a dumpster, left to be relentlessly devoured by rats until they can no longer be recognized for what they once were.
The Don’s death meant someone had to take up his mantle lest it fall into the hands of their rivals. But who?
Amongst themselves, Carlo’s question hung over their heads in memory.
“Do you have what it takes to lead this family?”
There’s two ways I envisioned this: (1) Both Muses are current Capos to the former Don and are vying for that role or (2) Muse A is a mole for a rival family/rival organization while Muse B earnestly want to fill the role of his predecessor. Either way, they will be in competition with each other or openly campaigning against each other to win over the family. We could add strain to their dynamic, if they were once friends (now estranged) or are currently friends (the mole’s identity still a secret to the other), and now have to go against each other. Of course, it the latter’s case, the Mole identity will be revealed and we can plan out how their secrets fall apart as well. Backgrounds and history are open for discussion.
My character is based on the Sicilian Mafia, but the other character could be from a different culture entirely. I’d love to see an Irish Mob, Japanese Yakuza, Columbian Cartel, etc. as a rival group or one that’s assimilated into the Mafia. Diversity is great!
➟ Sci-fi, Mind-bending Journey in Space
The electric blue horizon left the skies still, light filtering through the dense canopy of clouds that remained in place, despite, the dots of flying creatures heading towards the east. A sign of life was a good thing, you recalled, as the lone observer traversing the path. The atmosphere below came to meet you in a swirling fog. It wasn’t quite heavy that you couldn’t see the top of your boots; however, it was obscuring the ground enough to where you couldn’t recall where your footsteps were nor what laid underneath the hazy, purple turf that softened against every forward motion you took. Yet, your gaze remained fixed ahead.
For sometime, all you could hear were your footfalls. A desolation that felt incongruent with the life that surrounded you. The trees, or at least it was what you’d decided to call them, began to look all the same. They were a tall amalgamation of smaller branches that twisted against itself in a slanted direction leaving a sliver of darkness between the layers, quite unlike anything you’ve ever seen back home. If the structures themselves weren’t enough of a constant reminder of your place as an outlander, the flickering lights in between the cavernous hollows of the trunks bore it into you. You swore you were the one being watched and it wasn’t the other way around with the camera mounted into your helmet. Yet, you continued to walk on.
The structures that shrank as you passed was replaced with near identical ones ahead. Sometimes, the jagged boulders were scattered to the left. Sometimes, they were lined to the right. Such small anomalies didn’t make the monotonous trek any less tedious because you could no longer gauge your progress. Although your heavy breathing made it apparent that you have been hiking for hours, there were no indications that you’ve ever left where you began. The light from the sky remained unchanged and you were compelled to keep going.
You couldn’t be certain when it happened. The passage of time was no where to be found. Your mind’s complacency merely accepted that you were walking. There was nothing to walk to, there was nothing to walk away from. Despite the exhaustion, your pace was steady. The blinking trees fell away in the background. You weren’t aware of where your destination was anymore nor did you find a reason to stop. There wasn’t a rush that propelled you to run and you weren’t winded enough to warrant a brief reprieve. A singular thought commanded your actions.
Step, step, step, step.
There was blinding brightness before it was pitch black.
The humming sound felt both familiar and intangible as it grew louder and louder drawing your consciousness out of its dormancy. Accompanied by the sensation of slickness was the muted slosh of fluids, the steady ebb of cryogenic chemicals entered and exited in the preservation chambers that housed your floating body. Its walls dilated in breath, expanding to necessitate the need for air, and it contracted, driving out the wastes produced from it.
Slowly light infiltrated the cracks of the abyss. Then, expelled it out all at once.
The amounted pressure from the viscous pool erupted as you sat up in form. Lungs gasped for air. Your vision instantaneously returned only to be muddied from the globs of liquid that fell from the crown of your head a second later. Your thoughts swirled incoherently, final memories muddled by the years of induced comatose flashed.
Walking was the last thing you remembered.
For this plot, I actually want to toy around with the idea of a sentient planet and more in a telepathic sense. Our characters would be voyagers or space explorers who’s planet is slowly dying so they volunteered to go on this journey to find a new planet to terraform. They don’t have to be humans from Earth, we can make our own alien race, but I did imagine them to be more biological rather than mechanical/robotic. Of course, the flight would take years to complete so they have the option to be either put under cryogenic sleep so they can preserve their energy for the exploration or remain conscious and live their journey out on the ship. I did see both of them opting to sleep, but that’s not set in stone. Maybe the other needed to be awake for the ship’s maintenance. We can always discuss this as well.
However, before even arriving in their destination, they wake up with unusual dreams - or rather memories that aren’t entirely their own. I’m thinking that these images are memories coming from the planet that they want to terraform. Perhaps, it’s a warning. Perhaps, it’s a signal for help. Perhaps, it’s even just a hallucinatory side effect from the cryogenic chemicals. But our voyagers have to figure out what’s exactly happening to them before they completely lose their minds and become unable to differentiate “fantasy” from reality. I’m sort of going for something along the lines of “Inception” meets outer space.
➟ Borders on a Revolution/War, Whodunit in a Fantasy setting
Fettered winds blew by and by as the twinkling chimes echoed in unusual rhythms against the dusky sky. Lanterns emanated a warm, orange glow that attracted the crowds of eager villagers from their stone laid homes. The smell of grilled fish amongst other enticing spices swirled between the bannered food stands where many have gathered to partake in seasonal specialties. Delicate, trined flowers, enveloped in the hands of many, created a sparsely sprinkled sea of snow white that swayed as the bodies stopped from stall to stall momentarily mesmerized by the merchants’ wares. Eventually, most would find their way at the heart of the plaza, where the shrine’s offerings grew with the hopes that the goddesses would won over in their favour.
The Celebration of Lights has been a provisional holiday in the world of Trillium since the reverent elder ones could remember. The festivities revolved around the fabled origins of the three goddesses - Eritu, Praea, and Iscus - that represented the three nations respectively. There have been plenty of scholarly interpretations of the events that lead to past cataclysm that separated the once unified deity. However, there were three days where armistice ruled amongst them all, and it was to be upheld by all factions regardless of which sect they were a part of, a reminder that peace lies at the intersection of their beliefs. The Pact of Concord had been upheld without fail until the most recent celebration.
The three highest officials from each nation were to begin the festivities with a toast after their round of greetings and seasonal speeches to address the masses. With the clink of their cups, the crowds would roar with excitement as the band of wooden and stringed instruments serenaded their exit from the stage. Yet, this time around, their was a singular bloodcurdling shriek that ignited the crowd with alarm and trepidation. The Erituan Chief had fallen. His body landed on the stoned ground with a bone crushing thud before his head exploded, scarlet pooled from the neck outwardly touching the soles of the guards that held back the crowds.
Bodies scattered away like crepuscular vermin against the daylight. Secondary screams echoed as those who were tripped and trampled yelped for help. Parents howled for their children’s names as their touch was severed, gripped hands unable to withstand the fury of panic that challenged them in every direction. No one was safe against the flood of bodies that pushed and shoved their way out of the town square. Even the most decorated sentinels failed to contain the situation as their composure fell away at abrupt directives to secure the other offficials. A shield of bodies encapsulated the Praealist and Iscusee who couldn’t hide their relief as soon as the were met with their own defensive envoys for each knew that this attack wasn’t merely directed at the Erituan exclusively. It was an attack against them all.
What once was dismissed radical propaganda with loud heretics prophesying the conclusion of the reign of the goddesses could no longer be ignored. The self-proclaimed harbingers of the new world order succeeded in further dividing the factions as their conquest began. The rumoured uprising of Neo Genesis was inevitably making its face known to the surface.
No gods, no kings, no superiors.
Trillium is my baby. It’s a fictional world that I’ve had tinkering around in my mind for a long time now so I’ve saved it for last. I have a dedicated page to some lore on the following tab in case you’re interested. But it might be a little rambly because it’s my first time trying to put words to growing ideas. I’m sorry for that. ^ ^; For this particular plot, I would prefer a partner who’s keen on world building and someone who would ultimately want to stick around. I’d prefer no ghosters for this one as I’d need help to fine tune details or someone who’d push the bounds to make it better and continue to build on this passion project with me.
At the moment, the plot that I have in mind involves having a team of investigators try to find the suspect of the Erituan assassination. However, I’m open to exploring any character background or history. If you’d like to play a rogue or hired mercenary against my Erituan hunter, you’re more than welcome to. If you’d like to play an average citizen who’s lost their sibling and is only trying to enlist the help of the guards that would be fine as well. Alternatively, if you’d to explore the other side and make a Neo Genesis rebel, it would be fun to play around as I’m building characters on the fear mongering, sinister-seeming side of the spectrum too. Overall, the plot is open, if you’re willing to indulge in learning more about the world.
Erituans hail from the combined kingdoms of the Northern and Southern most hemispheres. Survivors of lingering winter, they are hard-working and direct. Their society is egalitarian with hierarchy being implied and no one person treated deferentially. As a result, the utmost respect is readily given to those who are eldest and have deserving merit. Highly traditional in nature, their cultures err on the side of homogeny, skeptical of those who are different. They would prefer law abiding citizens and ostracize the radical thinkers because of their deep roots to preserve history and the past. They are strict with their time as very little can be wasted as they prepare for the longer winter months. They are built quite sturdy as hunting for food is the main means for sustenance as tundra soil remains mostly in a state of permafreeze. They have the most adept trappers and trackers in all of Trillium.
Their goddess, Eritu, rules over the hunt and protection. In legends and ancient texts, Eritu is depicted to be the shepherd of the lands and its creatures. She takes only what is necessary and readily removes any threats to the living, even if it means sacrificing her own safety and comforts.
Praealists occupy the most fertile land masses and have the highest amount of seaports amongst the three factions. As the trading hub of Trillium, plenty of businesses compete in this densely populated area. Perhaps, it could be said that the citizens here are most concerned with the upkeep of production and storage of goods. In a world ruled by contracts and exchanges, bartering is commonplace and healthy competition is encouraged. With such a capitalistic mindset, the wealthy only grow to become even more so. Yet, all that glitters is not gold. There is a huge disparity in the Praeas lands as the class difference between those who live in luxury and those who are beneath them are most apparent. It is rumoured that underground slave-trading is popular in this faction, despite, the nature of its illegality under the Protective Laws in all of Trillium.
Goddess Praea, whom is most associated with the seas and justice, envisioned the Praeas to be a giving nation. She wanted to share the abundance of the oceans and its lands in equality with all of the inhabitants of Trillium. Unfortunately, modern day Praealist high officials have been corrupted with power and greed to be able to fulfill her wishes, although, there are still some who fight for fairness and revere her wisdom.
Iscusees are located at the heart of the world of Trillium. While the eight of islands of Iscus are nowhere near the size of Erituan and Praealist territories, they are the most difficult places to get to due to the way energy and gravity teeters in these land masses. In varying degrees of altitude, Iscus’ islands float above the ocean hundreds of feet in the air. To stabilize these structures and to keep them from floating, ancient devices buried way under the seas of Trillium hold it in place. It is said that Iscus herself forged these anchor like monolithic boulders and shared its secrets with her people. Iscusees are the most progressive of the factions. They hold the secrets to weaving ancient magic to innovate and create structures and their sentry of clay golems.
Although not much is known about them, all Iscusees bare a mark on their flesh and are known to be the most esoteric and scholarly nation. In fact, it was Iscusees who had created and constructed some of the warming devices used by Erituans and were known to be the top innovators of the naval vessels of the Praealists. They walk with a great presence around them, almost commanding, despite, their hooded tunics. Highly independent individuals, Iscusees implore a more lassiez-faire type of governance amongst their nation. Goods and services are delivered by an honour system as no real authority exists here. However, being in a lawless state meant that the possibility of death or crime against another is higher in probability.
Perhaps, it such a degree of perilousness that drove away most of the Iscusees to see refuge amongst the other nations. Very few citizens stay within these islands as they’ve become the oasis of outlaws, insurgents, and other most wanted felons. Those who do stay within their Institutions, for there was safety in numbers, and it is there where they learned to hone their craft. Be warned when approaching an Iscus Institution with malice as you may find yourself at the mercy of the world most powerful mages.
It was the goddess of knowledge and freedom, Iscus, who left her devotees to fend for themselves after giving them the necessary tools and abilities to live. Unlike her sister goddess, she didn’t believe in coddling her people as she preferred them to learn the power of independence and not solely relying upon her. Iscus strength was her mind and resourcefulness, for everything that she did know was shared amongst her people freely.