• This section is for roleplays only.
    ALL interest checks/recruiting threads must go in the Recruit Here section.

    Please remember to credit artists when using works not your own.

Fantasy ๐™’๐™š'๐™ง๐™š ๐™Ž๐™ž๐™™๐™š ๐˜พ๐™๐™–๐™ง๐™–๐™˜๐™ฉ๐™š๐™ง๐™จ ๐™๐™ง๐™ค๐™ข ๐˜ผ๐™ฃ๐™ค๐™ฉ๐™๐™š๐™ง ๐™’๐™ค๐™ง๐™ก๐™™ ๐™–๐™ฃ๐™™ ๐˜ฟ๐™ค๐™ฃ'๐™ฉ ๐™†๐™ฃ๐™ค๐™ฌ ๐™€๐™–๐™˜๐™ ๐™Š๐™ฉ๐™๐™š๐™ง!

cavitea

๐๐š๐ง๐œ๐ข๐ง๐  ๐ข๐ง ๐ญ๐ก๐ž ๐ฌ๐ฎ๐ง
Roleplay Availability
Roleplay Type(s)
Were_Side_Characters_From_Another_World_and_Dont_Know_Each_Other-3.gif
 
Last edited:






























title



artist












Spade of the West















R

equisite.










name


Elex Arborean Spรคth







a.k.a.


Count of Spades, Red Wall of the West







age


twenty-nine







Kingdom


Cardonia







Abilities


Martial combat, Military Stratagem, Avoiding Public Events













p

syche.





There was always an expectation, a creeping demand snaking over pinched collars and polished stone. It demanded and begged, spat on hackles like master to dog in a beg for one thing: protect. Placed against the unknown, a wrestling force gripping weakened dressings and stuffing straw back into sewn burlap.

He knows in the scratching of rats in his mind he wasn't meant for this. Each missed social gathering is another push along the insurmountable pieces at the ends of the board. They are lined with the teeth he feels stripped of, robbed of. Of course, a falcon cannot truly speak up against lions. Elex instead sits in the lonely echoes of his home, eyes focused on the lands he is meant to protect from; it is a look steeped in envy.

Perhaps someone will figure out one day that he truly doesn't belong within not Cardonia but the world. Perhaps then they would cast him out, set him free. It is a pawn's life, after all, to pretend as if the gaze of a daft heroine were ever meant to be for him.

To love her all the same?

Pathetic.

From the moment he stepped into gilded halls he was a second place figurehead, a crystalline sword set on its pedestal behind the curtains of 'who cares' and 'nobody important'.

He'll play his role quietly instead, swing his sword until a gratefully welcomed arrow nestles itself in his breast. Tired, exhausted, he has taken the world offered to him and cast it aside in the sting of regret. Another life once existed, what is there to show that this one has ever been better?










h

istory





Your life hadn't really been much in the modern world.

You remember a convenience store and the horrendous vest you wore while helping customers with significantly better lives flit around and leave. It was a dreadful existence and maybe it made the swift ending so bittersweet. A clunk of metal after standing around too long with cigarette in hand, cigarettes do kill being a dreadful final thought.

Eyes opened to stare at a ceiling decorated like some LARP palace. Worse was the look into a mirror that stared at a face that very much wasn't his in a home he very much didn't live in. A stumbling bird he was thrust into a world of high society and raised where twitched fingers meant enemies and clutched lips meant romance.

Very quickly he grew tired of the charades, the dances of words and unspoken rituals a draining sap ruling over a body lost of autonomy.

The story was old, a predetermined friendship with a woman uninterested in anything more than leading a trail to a boneless dog. Over and over for years and years he wanted to step away, recognize the role set for him by others and happily follow into it. Over and over she begged and prodded, asking for more than she wanted, more than he was willing to give.

A dance, instead.

Steps that faded into obscurity as one then two, soon ten years passed by and Elex was stuck still in the life of a foreigner. Nothing had come of note from him, not in the high gossip, not if he could help it. He kept to velvet curtains and comforting shadows at the events he dragged himself towards; it was maintenance at most to receive a title, dreary at worst.

Only a few more years, you'd think, wearily placing worn hands into another over and over again. The story repeats itself and you find yourself only a pawn dragged into the silence forced upon your shoulders.









g

allery.
































โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
 
Last edited:






























royalty



ezgod












duchess of hearts















R

equisite.










name


enora cerise hartfell







a.k.a.


duchess of hearts, lady enora, ennie







age


twenty-six







kingdom


cardonia







abilities


politics, dance, magic, (poison)













p

syche.





A heart so scorned it now only beats for a burning world. A betrayal of kindness turned into an exile of good, the only thing left behind something that rots like words and kills like lies. A life for a life. A future for a future โ€” you thought you were the only one who could play god? Call it being
vindictive
, she only sees it as a favour being returned.

Hands place the chess pieces on the board, mind
cunning
and goal clear. Somewhere else, a clock strikes, and you don't know if time echoes a beginning or an end. Smiles still stretch cheek to cheek, but the stars in the crimson cosmos has been emptied; only deep scarlets remain, darker than before, and resembling the color of blood more than ever.

Pleasant only in patterns carefully woven and stitched with desires
selfish
and
cruel
. A graceful being and maestro of dialogue, the silver tongue commands as much as it steers. Pretty in appearance and movement, it is not difficult to attract attention, but it is
intelligence
and
confidence
that makes people listen. And listen they will, listen until their hearts are hers to twist and break.

Just like hers.

But not all edges are sharpened into swords; there still lies
kindness
kindness beneath this throne of vices. Old fragments still make up the soul, creating a mosaic that hurts and loves all the same.
Righteous
in both the right and wrong ways ; she stands up to protect those dear while being merciless to adversaries. Charitable in blessings and curses, the goddess smiles down upon you.

you know what you deserve, don't you?

A villainess not born but made.

One who can't raise the dead, so she decided to raise hell.










h

istory





you wake up in unfamiliar lands, sweat sticking to your forehead and heart beating wildly-- too wildly for someone who saw the world spinning and felt bones crushing. something feels awfully off. everything around you looks bigger; the wooden desk, the window with streaks of dawn, the cracked mirror-- you glance into its chipped being, before letting out a scream. because you see a child in there, and that child isn't you.

you are suddenly a grown woman in a child's body, one who is just a name on paper in a novel, barely mentioned save for a few scenes. it is a reality that doesn't kick in just yet; every night you close your eyes, hoping it is a dream, and every day you wake up in a world that isn't yours. a year goes by and you are still stuck, leaving you with little hope of returning to your old life. anger dances with grief for a while until a conclusion turns its head; maybe, if you help the main characters and reach the story's good ending, you will be transported back.

and so, with every bit of talent and knowledge you have, the insignificant side character gains importance. with your help and presence, new paths are forged, tragedies are prevented and adversaries are defeated. characters turn into close friends and the feeling of home changes with the passing of time. after the main story draws its conclusion, you even feel content with having a future here, right with someone who should be fictional but is real. wishing to retire from the story's main path, you make plans to live somewhere on the countryside with him.

alas, the story was never yours, and it never will be.

your close friends betray you, sabotaging the happy ending you were so close to getting. a couple is broken up, one side sent to a conflict while the other gets married off to a duke. you gain nobility, but lose everything else. and if you are to be a monster created slowly, ruined with malice, your husband is one born, living with hatred hidden in their veins. a perfect horrible marriage craft feelings tasting like poison and memories feeling like weapons; you endure it till you can't. until a scarlet letter arrives, close to midnight, announcing a death of a beloved. of him.

above, a star falls and you fall with it.

another accident takes place; the unfortunate passing of duke hartfell. the poor man had caught an severe illness before no longer waking up one day. the funeral was a somber affair, one you felt too much to bear to its entirety. after a faint, you stand there lonesome, black veil billowing as you glance down at the grave. a single rose is placed upon the grave; it seeps through stone and for a moment, everything glows dark red.

you simply smile.

''scream all you want duke..." you muse to the man waking up below, his screams music to your ears.

"no one can hear you except me." the black veil is lifted, and a grin widens.

"don't worry, I will be back tomorrow as your faithful, mourning wife. so let's see how long you will last until you rot. ''










g

allery.
































โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
 






Duchess of hearts
















mood.


it's you
๐Ÿคฏ






location.


Diamond's Estate






attire.


crashing the ball







tags.
















Here is where truths lie; in the smoke of yesterdayโ€™s fire, in the silence between grins and graves, within the dark that spits instead of swallows, and right under these bright stars and streaking moonlight. But silver is silver, and gold is goldโ€” donโ€™t you know that the souls of the greedy tremble only for one? Outside, the moon continues to whisper her sonnet, and the stars twinkle in universal agreement, glancing at the ignorant behind glass windows and opulent decor.

They donโ€™t know whatโ€™s coming.

Chandelier revelers orchestrate knives rosined with honey and bend any light they can reach into bleeding crowns. Conjured grace from graceless minds spin with equal want as desperation, forever chasing fickle eyes and fickler hearts; reverence is a holy march, and they, nothing but a mindless pilgrim, willing to sacrifice legs and lungs just because others did it too. Just because the false god painted pain as sacrosanctity. Snakes they are, slipping out of their bones and slithering into the smile of someone else. We just want what's best for you, the serpents hiss, poisoned care dripping from their fangs. Can't you do it for us? Their eyes plead, all while the dagger behind their back grins.

A beautiful tragedy, they call it โ€” beautiful, it can be, because the affliction was never theirs to bear. A past killed by blood stained hands, but buried by cleansed ones; forgetting is, and always will be, easy for those who never truly remembered in the first place. But she remembers, remembers with every tattered and tainted fibre of her being; the crimson marks, the maroon writing, the ruby tears. Vermillion has stained her world, so can you blame her for only seeing red? Scars are meant to fade, but the heart has always been too prone to atrophy.

And a woman, broken and betrayed, always finds it easier to find justice in scarlet sins.

The night sky hums as a carriage pulls up to the estate, melody repeating, smirk tilting.

They don't know what's coming.

"My lady, I must implore you to think about what you are doingโ€”" the words flood with urgency, a clear panic rushing behind it.

"Oh do not worry dear Cyrella, there has been plenty of thought behind my plan for tonight." the door opens and a richly dressed woman steps out, expression so insouciant it only adds the other woman's distress. The lady in waiting scrambles out of the carriage; an anxious mouse chasing after the cat who believes in the nine lives mythos.

"Please, my lady, you do not have an invitation!" little squeaks holding useless information. Cyrella knows that Enora knows; her invitation was neither lost or forgotten. Hideous laughter echoes in its absence, the presence of the widow going unwanted. But that does not stop the duchess of hearts from arriving, albeit fashionably late. If it is their ball to enjoy, it is hers to ruin.

"Well, I invited myself, which should count too, no?" she waves, indifferent to the protests.

Enora feels a tug reeling her in as she moves to enter the estate. For a moment, she thinks she is about to be subjected to another fruitless appeal attempt โ€” the dismissal sits ready on the tongue โ€” but a looming shadow disrupts that thought. Her gaze travels, before widening, both at the proximity and the appearance of the missed stranger. Except, he is no stranger, and she can recognizes him the second red collides with red.

โ€œYouโ€™reโ€”โ€œ the second male lead, words swallowed in the same breathe they were conjured. A character who disappeared from the story faster than a heart could break; Enora assumed it was all her doing, toying with the strings of fate like a new god, omniscient but not silent. How many years has it been since? Nine? Ten? Enora feels the years in her bones, sees how he bears the same ages lived, too. Something darker looms in the shadow of him.

His gaze feels heavier than time.

A small cough behind her, its muffled sound saying more than words would. Remembering where she is, who she is, Enora immediately performs a curtsy.

"Ah, my apologies for the rude greetings. I was simply not expecting to find the great count of Spades attending this ball as well." the pointed look in her back seems to grow hotter and hotter by the moment. Patience, Cyrella..

"I also believe this is the first time we cross paths, so allow me to formally introduce myself; I am Enora Cerise Hartfell, Duchess of hearts. Wife of the late Duke Valentine." the stretching of the lips strains just a little at the mention of a deceased husband. Call it grief if you want.

For bitterness exists in both sorrow and spite.




loveless


โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
 






Count of Spades
















mood.


oh?






location.


Diamond's Estate






attire.


soggy tired man




















Few things mattered to the cruel gods that made up weaves of Fate. They sat on their stools, burnt and crumbling as their crooked fingers plucked lives against predetermined destinies, wove them into tight crosses and designs. Again they plucked, a life falling to peasant floors as another spun along gilded elegance, pompous and proud.

Elex Arborean Spรคth was but another thread in the grand design. He was dressed in the threads of crimson and black, coated in medals and decorum fitting of a Count doomed to fight for a kingdom against the outsiders threatening the walls he teetered in suicidal ideology along. Every step took him closer to the edge and equally far away, pushed and pulled by the grand order of Fate and the endless begging of a female and male lead that beckoned him closer.

He was to glow, as they would praise; a sneer hidden perhaps from the male lead if he stepped too close to the riveting existence of a female that twirled and received all of her happiness bundled in a bow. It was a game he had briefly played if not for the enchanting ways she was due to have.

It was a game, like so many others, that he swiftly abandoned upon the boredom and exhaustion of keeping up with rules. Expectations never lessened for a man sworn to protect, to be bold and as brash as a father he had wished goodbye to in a coffin years before. All of it, bundled just as neatly before him was an exhausting platter of endless trivial conversations and motions that were only meant to make him be what he was destined to not be: good enough. Elex would blame it as to why he stood so uncertainly in his statuesque self along the entrance of the estate, gazing in weakened rubies to an entrance withholding the frivolity of a life he abandoned.

Abandoned was an easier word to describe what he had done to the scene of nobles and riches, hiding behind the walls of barren wastes from such scenes as easily as he stepped away. It was easier, after all, to avoid the female lead and her incessant letters begging and crying for his return.

It was easier yet he was still here, a slave to the will of Fate.

A sigh, deep-bodied and breathless wisped out from the reds and blacks, bouncing over steps to the equally stiff forms of expectant companions. One held a chest, mahogany and silver engrained, teetering in his steps as expectant eyes kept themselves along the back of the Count long enough to almost dismiss the arriving crunch of new shoes and fussing ladies.

"You're-" And his head turned to meet into red he once read about, lukewarm blood that reflected too easily the shock of a woman scorned meeting a man unwilling. A brow pushed itself up in the curiosity of the moment, a gaze passing over the appearance of someone that looked more ready to declare herself ruler of the world than a mere attendant to a soiree. She curtsied before him though, lowering a head in a way that didn't seem to fit her at all.

Elex almost smiled at the sight.

"A pleasure to meet you, your grace. I am Elex Arborean Spรคth, Count of Spades. I had heard of your husband from the news that reached the West and I'm terribly sorry for your loss." He mirrored the smile that meant nothing but a play to a pauper. A flicking of eyes wandered over the mouse that followed her and he studied the lady-in-waiting briefly, a bird of prey that sidled nicely along the cat as the falsified smile extended itself.

"You seem without an escort, your grace."
In the bags of exhaustion there was a hint of amusement, bow pulled taught against a string as a hand offered itself foolishly in the air and he tilted his body. "I hope you don't consider me presumptuous to assume such a tragedy and instead allow me the grace of escorting you inside. After all," Vermillion looked up from their inspection of the ground and met into the poisoned blood of another, the amusement growing only in degrees as a smile of unknown intention pressed itself to the Count's face.

"Someone of your stature deserves the entrance you have dressed for, wouldn't you agree? Perhaps my absence from the scene may provide you the coattails to step on." A murmured grumble behind the man sounded, scuffling of chains and medals clinked against one another. Elex, it said, a stern sort of sound made entirely out of social constructs.

"Not to say, of course, that you aren't capable of that on your own." Elex shook to hold back the roll of eyes at the addition, finding only friction coming at the sensation of hemming and hawing. "Please then, your grace, allow me to accompany you."




loveless


โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
 






Duchess of hearts
















mood.


๐Ÿง






location.


Diamond's Estate






attire.


crashing the ball







tags.

















Torn paper trails stalk the Duchess like a shadow of unwanted conscience while inked fingers dig further into fabrics as heavy as the fate she bears. There has been a story told and a story woven: one by a cruel god and one by a naive human. Both were set on bending visions into reality, to shape the stars into constellations leading the way to church bells ringing and flags of victory waving. Bestowed with a god-like omniscience, the human played with the golden threads, twisting and tangling them into a heart without realizing this story revolved around the heartless.

And here she stands now, clutching an ill wrought heart with vengeance between its beats and hurt in its blood. If this world has taught her anything, it would be that nothing is permanent; love can always shatter before being truly held, happiness is one word away from death, and time fades more than it could ever cradle. Enora no longer believes in the power of playing god, knows now better than to try and best fate at its own game. Neverheless, it does not mean she will leave what has come to pass alone. No, all the threads she has woven will be undone; they will fray, even if it takes a lifetime of picking to do so. They will come to know what loss is.

Will come to find out what happens when you turn a friend into a Villainess.

Enora regards the second male lead like one does with a pawn on a chessboard. A mystery piece has presented itself before her, offering a move that could bring this night to a swift check mate. Still, she hesitates for a moment, the taste of ash and ember still lingering after the fire. She got burned for deciding to trust a main character before; it would not do well to choke on smoke again. And, maybe, there is a sliver of morality slithering through the cracks of its broken compass, telling her to save him before she could ruin him. Elex has already been a victim of her doing once; it is true he was never meant to win the female leadโ€™s heart in both stories, but Enora gave him even less of a chance in this one. He deserves better than to be a weapon in someone elseโ€™s war. She knows he deserves better.

And yet, her hand finds his.

โ€œIt would be my utmost pleasure, lord Spรคth.โ€ she smiles, all while ignoring the strangled noise of panic behind her. His hand feels cold, and she wonders how long he has been standing outside. Enora decides to be polite and not ask, instead silently following his lead as they finally enter the grand estate.

The grand doors open, revealing a gala boringly normal and easily pauzed. Attention travels to the newest commotion; eyes locking in on the latest arrival and widening in equal shock as disbelief. Nothing lingers more than the whispers of those on the sidelines of history; beings with only their insignificant presence to count for, so easily missed if it isn't for their words clinging to current events, desperate to stick, longing to be remembered. Enora pays them little mind, knows better than to let ants bite. She only cares about the reaction of two people here. They are the very reason for her unwelcome presence here, why she accepted Elexโ€™s offer despite him deserving better than to be used as her sword of retribution.

Enora doesnโ€™t know if she could have pushed him to meet them, but luckily she doesnโ€™t need to.

โ€œEnora?โ€ the voice betrays an uneasy surprise, blue eyes flickering between the Duchess of hearts and Count of Spades. So many delicious emotions are to be caught in those pools; shock, confusion, curiosity, discomfortโ€” the female lead offers more thoughts than words. Enora grins brightly at her old friend.

โ€œSerina, it is so good to see you- oh? Are u alright? You look a bit paleโ€ฆ?โ€

Serina briefly touches her cheek, as if realizing just now how far the mask has fallen. She then shakes her head and smiles back softly.

โ€œAh, it is nothing. You have gives us quite the surprise Ennie, we didnโ€™t expect to see you here tonightโ€”โ€ there is a rotten knowledge hidden beneath the innocence, an exclusion orchestrated by the same hand that sent a man to his death and a friend to her ruination. Topaz meets another cut of vermillion. โ€œโ€”and with lord Spรคth. I didnโ€™t know you two knew each other.โ€

A thousand speculations, a dozen bad ones; fear grips what it can catch, and entitlement breathes its ugly breath down the throat of the biggest marauder of all.

โ€œWe donโ€™t.โ€ Enora answers honestly, revelling in the way relief floods Serinaโ€™s eyes. The duchess of Hearts proceeds to grasp Elexโ€™s arm, pressing herself closer to him. โ€œBut a lot can change during such a wonderful night. Wonโ€™t you say so as well, lord Spรคth?โ€ Flutters of an eyelash, and behind, a glint of vermillion. Waiting, questioning, daringโ€”

Are you to be a pawn or player?




loveless


โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
 

Users who are viewing this thread

Back
Top