Fantasy “We are all drops of liquid fantasy in this untamed sea of life.” (advanced; plots include dark fantasy/desert setting/dragons OR feudal japan/yokai)

[vaelis]

seashell minds, if you
listen closely you can hear
the salt roars of oceans.

the emerald ebb
and flow of ideas that
adds spice to our lives.

we are all drops of
liquid fantasy in this
untamed sea of life.
- Unknown


​

Hello, everyone! My name is Vaelis (she/her). I absolutely adore writing, and consider myself to be advanced (whatever that subjectively means). After all, there are few things in this world that are better than an exquisite story. I have a pretty wide range of interests when it comes to writing, but I don't do fandoms (ever). I would love to discover a few people that I can explore worlds and concepts with. I have a few plots I've created, or I'd love to participate in your world. It's important to me that stories have plots/anchor points and that characters have motivations and goals. Moral complexity is a must, with relatable antagonists. I find noble/linear heroes to be terribly boring (if the knight in shining armor is your go-to, we probably won't mesh). I usually have a main character (prefer female, but will consider male), with multiple side characters (male & female) that add depth and vibrancy to the story. I write everything from mundane slice-of-life, to full-fledged war/revenge stories. Though I usually don't do psychological thrillers. I do consider eventual romance to be an integral part of any good book/story, but typically not the 'fluff' kind. Nor is it an absolute requirement. I usually pair my characters with males, but I can also do f/f.

My preferred genre is dark fantasy.
I prefer to write with people that are 21+. Some stories may have mature/dark themes. Also I'm a millennial.
I can generally write/respond 1-3 times a week (approx. 400-800 words per post/message).
However I do work in the e-commerce world, so November/December are insanely busy for me and I will need some leniency.

OOC chatter/plotting comes with the package. I try not to bite!

Please PM me with interests/ideas/plots.
I have two available, but if neither is to your taste,
I'm happy to write in a world of your creation.

Spoiler: Interests

dark fantasy
low/high fantasy
medieval or historic settings
magic (limited/rare)
folklore
feudal japan
mythical beasts
adventure
some isekai (with darker plots)

Spoiler: Favorite Books/Anime

While I don't write fanfic, I thought I'd share books/anime that I enjoy
to give you a more accurate idea about the types of stories I'm interested in.

Glen Cook - The Black Company
Brandon Sanderson - Codex Alera/Elantris
Naomi Novik - Temeraire Series
Mark Lawrence (All the books, ever!)
Robin Hobb (All the books, ever!)
Schwab - Shades of Magic Series
Studio Ghibli/Miyazaki
Spice & Wolf
Sword Art Online
That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime

Spoiler: Writing Sample

The narrow stretch of sand known as Caller’s Cove was littered with wood, canvas, and other debris - including corpses. Even a child could discern the evidence of a shipwreck, as if the half hulking skeleton of a ship wasn’t sign enough. And they did notice. Malnourished urchins from a local village clambered across the dunes like sand lice, rummaging for valuables. The winter had been hard. After the last rumblings of a storm sounded overhead, their fathers had sent them on a cursory errand to discover ‘the bounty of our mistress’. A fickle mistress she was; today, she spat square in their faces.

“Some bounty,” one of the older children snickered. The barrels strewn along the beach had been shattered, the disgorged rations devoured by fish and gull. There would be no succor for the village on this cloud-stricken day. Still, scouring the beach was a delightful reprieve from their mundane chores, even under the opaque stare of dead men. Hopscotch. Barrel riding. Wrestling. Laughter pierced the skies. It was that depraved screeching that drew Cloudspire from the wavering grasp of death, her conscious lapsing in, and out. In, and out. Synchronized with the tide.

“Gerric, look here!”

A stick prodded her ribs. The demonic child had aimed for a gaping wound, the most efficient means of determining whether she was a corpse, or - by some miracle - alive. A second prod determined just that, drawing an anguished groan from the... woman? It was met by a series of shrieks. A headache was in store, the pain an insignificant ache against her litany of wounds.

“What is it?” Must be Gerric. His voice was shrill, edged with terror.

The conversation frayed beneath the constant susurrus of waves. Time passed. It was difficult to track. The petrified children scuttled across the dunes to their village, babbling some nonsense about sea monsters. Daylight acquiesced to dusk, the sieve of clouds making the change so gradual it almost passed unnoticed. Cloudspire spent the last dregs of her energy clinging to consciousness, vaguely pondering whether the children would return with their elders.

It rained the next day. Or was it the day after that? Another windfall. Her blistered lips parted, drawing sustenance from the sky. The water trickled down her throat. Slowly, so slowly. But it was enough. Salt-crusted lashes crackled as her eyes split open, witnessing a blanket of slate clouds. Her namesake. In that moment, her instincts surfaced, searing through every nerve in her desiccated body. She would survive. She was Cloudspire, a Clan Spirit of Skymaw. Indomitable. Resolute. Alive.

“Bastards.”

Hours crawled by, at the same unhurried pace as the corpse beetle skittering across her sunken cheek. The rain ceased. Despite a blazing will to live, Cloudspire’s body was weaker than a mewling pup. Too weak to ascend from her lesser, human form. She schemed. A sailor's corpse lazed a few yards distant, sans his eyes. Suppose the crows had been at him. What they’d spared, the crabs considered a feast. There wasn’t much left, but perhaps it was enough. It’d been so long since her last meal, the thought of putrefied flesh barely curdled her stomach. Perhaps it would even taste like cardamom buns?

And so it went, little by little. A pinch of apple fritters. A sliver of buttered rye bread. A handful of honeyed chestnuts. Baked pumpkin. Smoked salmon. Caramelized custard. Bread pudding. Intestine. Wait, not that - focus. Apples. Blackberries. The divine delight of chocolate.

Enough calories had been consumed to crawl, inch by aching inch, to the conifer timberline that edged Caller’s Cove. Cloudspire curled beneath the low boughs of a pine and fell into a dreamless sleep. Were any of the villagers to return to that cursed stretch of sand, the carnage would rend their souls.

 

[vaelis]

OPEN - PLEASE PM WITH INTEREST


​

It was late in the spring season. Dawn wavered through a sieve of sakura blossoms, illuminating the velvet petals of an age-old shidarezakura tree into a tapestry of pastel hues. Taishoku nestled amidst the weeping branches, her malachite eyes trailing the earthward descent of each spent blossom. A bittersweet smile lingered on her lips. The tree had survived centuries, witness to countless pilgrimages along the forested path that connected the villages of Kokuro and Nagama. Reverent travelers had tied vibrant strips of tanzuku - wishing paper - among the bronze leaves, creating an enchanting festival of color. Perhaps that ritual, repeated time and time again over decades, was what had first awakened the spirit known as Taishoku. But now the tree was blighted; most of the branches were barren, with only a few still yielding an arresting spray of blossoms. The shidarezakura was dying, and Taishoku along with it.

A western wind stirred the sakura into a frenzy, the fragile petals cavorting in miniature whirlwinds. Taishoku extended her hand in a languid gesture, effortlessly capturing a stray bloom between pinched fingers. She lifted the blossom to her cheek in a gentle caress. This moment, it reminded her of years past, when a solitary traveler had meditated beneath the boughs of the shidarezakura tree. Loath to reveal her presence, she'd observed him from afar, admiring the herons embroidered into his carmine hoari, which contrasted so delightfully against the muted shades of the forest. He’d spent an entire afternoon in repose, before scribing his wish onto a slip of parchment and departing. She’d later inspected the tanzuku. The paper had been dyed a pale lavender, with dried wisteria blooms delicately pressed into the tactile mulch. It simply said, 'Gratitude'. She’d been bewildered by the gesture; most travelers focused inward, giving voice to their heart’s hidden desires. She had a brief pang of regret. She would have enjoyed greeting the stranger, but the moment had passed. She wasn’t able to leave the glade.

“The cherry-bloom has gone--
A temple, in among the trees,
Is what it has become.”​

Taishoku murmured the poem as she exhaled, releasing the captured sakura blossom on the tail of the last syllable. The stream of visitors had gradually diminished. She tapped a count on the silvered bark of the tree. Five years? Or had it been longer since the last wish had been tied to the boughs? Twelve years? The blight was corroding her memory. Within the isolated confines of the glade, the only finite method to mark time was the addition of each tanzuku. She drew one of the decaying strips of paper through her fingers, the indigo substrate flaking at her touch. She’d witnessed history through the narrow lense of her glade. A farmer wishing for rain during a parched summer. A wife longing for their husband’s safe return, when he was presumed slain during battle. Lovers yearning to be liberated from their arranged marriages. A rambling parade of souls, shining with hope.

The constant susurrus of the forest faltered into a pregnant silence. Even the nightingales ceased warbling. Taishoku canted her head, pale hair tumbling from her shoulder. There was an irregular scent on the west wind - a feeble tendril of woodsmoke, almost indistinguishable against the verdant musk of the forest. She descended from the branches of the shidarezakura tree, a shower of petals marking her progress. Her expression flickered between alarm and mirth. Perhaps her vigil had ended.

Spoiler: PLOT/INFO

I adore folklore, and I wanted to create a story around Japanese yokai/spirits. The story has a much more sedate pace than I typically write, but I’m excited to explore Taishoku as a character. The story is set in the Edo period of Japan (with a hefty dallop of fantasy), a few decades before the Meiji period (or if you prefer the story to start in the Meiji period, I’m fine with that too). For the plot, Taishoku will grant a traveler (your character) one of the last blossoms from the shidarezakura tree. This transaction would allow Taishoku to leave her shrine, as long as she remains within the proximity of your character. From here, the plot could diverge into two options:

The five petals of the sakura blossom would grant five wishes, reminiscent of the tanzuku wishes strewn amid the branches of the shidarezakura tree. Taishoku would accompany your character until these wishes are expended, at which point the story will end.

Alternatively, the five petals of the sakura blossom would represent Taishoku’s remaining lifespan. Our characters will either discover a way to preserve Taishoku' s life, or Taishoku will fade from the world.

Otherwise, the story is pretty open. It could be more of a slice-of-life/romance story, or it could lean towards a darker plot (greed/redemption/loss/etc).

If you’d like to write together, please PM me with character ideas.
Characters that might potentially be interesting: merchant, artisan, samurai/ronin, inventor, another yokai, or some type of onmyodo.
I look forward to hearing from you!

​

​

 

[vaelis]

OPEN - PLEASE PM WITH INTEREST


​

The sandstorm had passed. Esen Al’Dara scrambled from beneath the wing of Lubayd, her Iraski, coughing as sand sloughed from the carmine webbing of his wing. She was disgruntled. The sandstorm had materialized on the edge of dawn, nearly imperceptible in the wavering light, and caught her unaware. If it were not for Lubayd’s warning rumble, she would have died. Her hands idly swept the sand from her bleached robes as she reviewed her cluster’s campsite. Most of their gear was either missing or presumed buried, including the nets and glaives required for their assignment. The dragons Beril and Yol were twin hills of sand, their jasper and indigo striated scales glimmering through the grains like freshly polished gems. Neither of their Bound were within sight.

“Asil? Ceylon?” Esen’s voice was a hoarse whisper, tongue woolen in her parched throat. There was no response. Resolutely, she advanced toward Beril, her eyes downcast, careful to maintain a submissive posture. The dragon observed her through the narrow slit of his eyelid, his topaz eye gleaming with lethal promise. A sinister hiss checked Esen at the edge of his dominion; she would encroach no further. Minutes passed. Time unspooled in silence. There was no movement within the radius of Beril’s bulk, nor the sound of a man gasping for breath. Esen’s heart constricted, sorrow radiating through her soul; even if Asil was buried alive beneath a drift, she was unable to search for him - Beril would not permit it. Such was the way of the Bound, their deaths as often caused by the capricious nature of their dragons, as they were to the implacable desert, or the calamity of battle.

Asil. He’d been more than a mere comrade. A some-time lover and confidante. They’d accompanied one another on their wyrm trials, scouring the sands for buried nests. The moon had waxed several times before they discovered a hidden network of caves, populated by juvenile Iraski, too numerous to slay in a forthright skirmish. Asil had brought a rare herb - esperia - that would temporarily paralyze the beasts. The herb, when added to their peat fire, worked like a charm. That was as far as their luck extended. Most of the eggs unearthed within the caverns were already hatched, with the exception of one. Asil, despite being the eldest between them, had conceded the egg to her, teasing that he would be loath to relegate himself to mere messenger duties. Among the dragonkin, the Iraski possessed the most dramatic wing-to-weight ratio, their massive wingspan projecting the beasts through the skies at near lethal velocities. It made them invaluable for transporting time-sensitive information, especially during the throes of battle.

Asil. His soul had shined so brilliantly, dimming those around him. Esen closed her eyes, bracing herself against reality, but she shed no tears. Even a few drops of water could be the deciding factor between life and death. “Farewell, Asil. Ceylon. May the Glittering Sands receive your souls, and may your dragons seek the stars.”

Esen retrieved whatever gear she could discover scattered across the dunes. The ash pole of a glaive, sans the blade. She was pleased - wood was a more valuable commodity than steel. A spare throwing knife. The canvas remnants of a tent. All this, and more, she gathered into an orderly bundle and strapped into the net that lined Lubayd’s underbelly. Her hands trembled as she reviewed her dragon’s harness, tightening the buckle behind his left foreleg, and minutely adjusting the weight distribution of her gear. She frowned; the leather needed oiled, but it would have to wait until her return to Iznir. Beril and Yol would become feral after they realized their Bound were dead. Since they were both male, they would either battle for dominance, or flee in opposite directions. Esen would have gambled on the former - reaper dragons were a savage breed. She had no desire to witness either outcome, so she hoisted herself onto her perch behind Lubayd’s withers and grasped the woven silk leads.

“To the skies, my fury.” Esen pursed her lips and whistled a complex series of notes. Lubayd hummed a single baritone note in response, the sound vibrations rattling Esen’s teeth. The dragon’s muscles condensed. Then he leapt, his spined wings scooping the air in two quick strokes, and they were aloft. Beril and Yol roared their outrage, but already the sounds of the desert were growing faint, with the wind howling in her ears. Esen and Lubayd circled once, twice. The sandstorm has transformed the landscape; leagues of dunes, both colossal and diminutive, now disrupted what had once been a flat plain. The Plateaus of Fallen Grace split the horizon in the east. Lubayd sought a thermal updraft before banking northwest, toward Izmir. Esen’s hood whipped against her cheeks and stung her skin. It would be a grueling two day flight.

Opener will be expanded depending on plot.​

Spoiler: OOC/PLOT

This is a story about dragons. While dragons are somewhat intelligent (an approximation would be elephants), they are not a sentient/self-conscious species. They're violent beasts that have been bent to the will of mankind for both warfare and exploration. When they're hatched, they imprint on a single human, and will solely serve that human until fate claims one of their lives. These pairs are called Bound. The desert world the Bound exist in is rife with war. The clans constantly battle for the limited resources available, with the largest tribes established above aquifers.

The story begins after the onset of a disease that petrifies a dragon's wings, driving them into madness (similar to rabies). In order to consolidate their strength to repel the deranged beasts, some clans have declared an armistice, while others view it as an opportunity to raid their weakened neighbors. The Bound are desperate to discover the source of the disease, lest they face the dreaded task of exterminating an entire species, including their own counterparts.

This is a story that will involve war, violence, gore, betrayal, profanity, and lesser evils.

Please PM me with interest and character ideas. I haven't developed most of the lore/world, so we can discuss that as well. I do prefer to explore the world through writing (instead of front-loading an entire backdrop to the story - that's exhausting and demotivates me). Your character will most likely be another Bound, though there are other options that don't involve dragons. I would also appreciate a writing sample, but it's not required. ^^

 

[vaelis]

Bloop. ​

 

[RetroDragon8507]

I would be interested in talking about your Taishoku rp idea

 

[RetroDragon8507]

Bump to our PM XD