I'm Evestra a 20 something female looking for some exciting RP. This is definitely 18+ because I want smut to be a major component of any of these RPs. If this isn't your cup of tea I completely understand.
I consider myself to be a low advanced/high casual writer but I definitely prioritize activity over grandiloquence.
All RP will be over PM's
If you are no longer interested in a plot then just let me know and we can drop it. I would rather have one, short, complete piece of work than a long one that trails off into nothing.
Anything in the Warhammer universe!!!! Witch/Paladin Orc/Priestess Warrior/Priestess Summoner/Demoness Evil Knight/Princess
These are by no means exhaustive but they give you an idea about what I am interested in. If there is something you want to do drop me a PM and let me know!
The spell twisted in Merci's magical vision. She saw how Baladras altered the fabric of her spell. With an effort of will she twisted her own spellwork into the shape he had made. The light flickered for a minute and then steadied into a constant illumination. Progress. She felt absurdly pleased with something so small as a better light spell and was glad that the heat of the battle left them all flushed. She coughed, the grave dust and ozone of spells flaying her throat.
Watching the men work was not an unpleasant way to catch her breath. She watched, appreciatively, their corded muscles bulged as they heaved the lids from ancient stone sarcophagi.
“At least we know that the rumors are true and the place hasn’t already been looted,” she commented quietly, excited despite the danger by the possibility of gain. She brushed the scroll with her fingertips, hungry for anything magical but she restrained herself. Old Colb had used a scroll of invisibility once and she had seen it crumble to dust, leaving him none the wiser. Better to wait, there was certain to be magical lore to be gained, but it wasn’t here. She pocketed some of the gold, figuring that, at least, would allow her to eat.
“You think the dead are smart enough to wait in ambush?” she whispered to Hector as she moved forward leaving the others to divide the remaining spoils. They hadn't fared to badly, and thus far she hadn't managed to embarrass herself in front of the more experienced spell casters.
Merci was glad that the darkness hid her blush. There were several mages with the group and most of them might have managed the magelight with more skill and elegance than she did. It wasn’t her fault that her training was spotty but she could feel the judging eyes of the other on her back.
When the trap sprang she had a momentary flash of horror, afraid that it was her fault. It was followed by an equally guilty rush of vindication that it hadn’t been her that had fouled up. Focus. You can feel guilty and still be alive if you keep your mind on the job. She fell back behind the warriors. There was little she could do directly, she doubted that the undead would fall for illusions. Fire. They were dry like kindling. Her own abilities with destruction were meager at best, but there was more than one way to skin a saber cat.
“Space! I need space,” she yelled above the crash of swords. With practiced strokes she began scratching a hasty summoning circle onto the moss covered stones. She could call up someone who would bring fire. Magicka shivered through her body. The first time she had done this she had been surrounded by chanting cultists, crazed with halluonegienc laced wine. Keep you mind on the present! She reached for the Daedra as she called its name under her breath. It writhed against her will like a snake. Grimly she ground her intent against it, forcing the Daedra to take the shape she wanted, forcing it to obey her. The fire atronach began to rise from the ground, the heat of it warming her skin but not burning her. It was forbidden to burn her, though in its heart it wanted nothing more than to drag her to the primordial fire from whence it came.
Name: Angelique du Mersot (Mer-so) . She goes my Merci as Angelique is kind of a mouthful. Age: 24 Gender: Female. Race: Breton.
Appearance: Angelique is a young Breton woman a little below average height. She possesses the classical beauty of her race with high cheekbones and a neat, heart shaped face. She has dark eyes and dark chestnut hair which she keeps cut above her shoulders; lest it interfere with spell work or alchemy. Years of living on very little have left Angelique unhealthily thin. This has also resulted in a slight hollowing of her face and eyes, granting her an intensity that can be a little off putting.
Surviving on the streets has not given Angelique the luxury of idleness that many mages enjoy and as a result she is in excellent physical condition. Running and climbing have given her tight, lean muscles without the bulkiness often seen in swordsmen or warriors.
Personality: Despite her relatively hard life Angelique is fairly pleasant, even friendly. Betrayals and abuse have made her wary but she wants to be accepted and be part of the group in a way that only those who have been kept on the outside for a long time can understand. Morally Angelique is very flexible, working with many disparate groups, has given her a mercenary's bland acceptance of the world that is, rather than the world that ought to be. Moral judgments and outrage can be expensive when eating tonight depends on pleasing others.
Magic is Angelique’s true joy and her whole demeanor frequently changes when she practices it. She loves magic in all its form and has an insatiable appetite for new lore and knowledge. All the sacrifices she has made seem worth it when she pulls together a particularly clever spell or masters a new technique. She can be a little resentful of those who have had the privilege of a more leisurely education in the arcane arts, particularly if she feels that the practitioner is lazy or wasting their blessings.
History: On the distant shores of Daggerfall in High Rock, far to the west, lies the small village of Marne. In this village, under the sign of the Lover, Angelique was born. Her parents were social climbers, well to do for tradespeople but not spectacularly wealthy. Like many Breton children Angelique showed early magical promise. As she grew older, this promise turned into a fascination bordering on obsession. Not infrequently she would be punished for pestering some wandering spell caster for a lesson or a bit of lore. Unhappily, formal education at a magical school was far beyond her parent’s limited means and she tried, without success, to accept this.
As the years passed Angelique grew into a strong willed and beautiful young woman. She learned a little alchemy from her mother but in her heart she always dreamed of studying magic. On her sixteenth birthday Angelique was betrothed to one of the younger sons of the local nobility. It was considered quite a coup by her parents, despite the fact that the gentleman in question was a younger son and unlikely to inherit much beyond a few poor acres. Entree into the nobility is the dream of every aspiring peasant after all.
It was too much for young Angelique, after a screaming argument with her father, in which suicide as threatened and the prospect of her being taken to the altar in chains was raised, she stormed off to her room. After hours of weeping an idea occurred to Angelique that was only possible in the romantic mind of a teenager. Gathering a few belongings she crept down to her father's strong room, opened the simple lock and stole the dowry that he had spent years laying away for her. Fleeing into the night, she left Daggerfall for Wayrest, able to pursue her dreams of magical study. Or so she thought.
Unfortunately, what a sixteen year old girl from a small town in Daggerfall imagines is a lot of money doesn't go very far in a city like Wayrest. She obtained some instruction but within a few months she was broke. With no place to live, no way to continue her studies and unable to return home, things looked dire. By a combination of luck and determination she made her living on the street. She picked wild flowers and made potions which she hawked to the desperate and foolish. She learned that a pretty girl could relieve a drunken merchant of a few septims, if she had the stomach for it, and she found the ins and outs of the local underworld.
Through these networks of pickpockets, pimps and cut purses, she found the means to continue her education. A lesson on illusion from an old nightblade in exchange for some company and a few bottles of mead, a vain wizard willing to give a pretty and fascinated girl a few pointers on a cantrip, a drunken priest that would expostulate on healing magic. Bit by bit she was able to patch together a semblance of training while keeping body and soul together by the barest of margins. And then, of course, there were the Cults.
It is an open secret that every nation in Tamriel is riddled with Daedric cults of one type or another. Some of these, like Azura’s, are relatively benign but the kind of cults interested in a desperate young woman with magical abilities tended to be the other kind. Here, a midst smoke, blood and sweat, she received what might be euphemistically described as her foundations in conjuration.
She might have ended here like so many others, drawn into the ever constricting circles of cult life, hopelessly addicted to drugs or other vices but for a strange chance. During a particularly debauched ritual she came face to face with another worshiper. To her horror, she recognized the face of her former fiancé, worse yet, he recognized her. With the realization that he would certainly have her killed to prevent the possibility of exposure or blackmail she fled. An old acquaintance in the mercenary trade vouched for her and she was hired on as a guard for a caravan headed east, to Cheydinhal.
Skills: Angelique's skills lay primarily with magic. She has received an extraordinarily eclectic education and is basically competent in most magical disciplines. Conjuration is a particular area of strength as this was the easiest area in which to find instruction. She is also slightly better at illusions and restorative magic as these were the most essential to survival on the streets. She has a small degree of skill with alchemy but has had little practice beyond love potions and hangover cures since she was a girl.
Although not a master thief by any stretch of the imagination, living on the street has given Angelique the basic tools of an urban criminal. She probably can’t steal it for you herself, but she can find someone who can.
Look for the big maple? How in the name of oblivion was she supposed to know which one was a maple. Well Merci, she said to herself, look for the one with the leaves. Fortunately any additional botany proved unnecessary, using the sound of the voice and the sense of a spell she was able to get close enough to where both the fog and the trees seemed to thin out.
The grizzled Hector and the Dark Elf, Berig or Balen or something both stood in the small clearing. Neither one seemed the source of the voice.
"Hello gentlemen," she introduced herself, hiding her relief at being in the company of others and out of the cursed fog. The barrow stood infront of her, impressive in an ancient brooding sort of way. As a child she had once gone to Privateer's Hold on a dare. This looked centuries older than that ruin. Merci closed her fist and her magelight winked out, the dimness of the fog redoubling.
Merci swore in Breton and not for the first, or tenth time. The fog and the forest made what would have been a difficult task nearly impossible. Blindly, she stumbled between tree bohles that must have been ancient when Tiber Septim walked the earth. Forests were not her strong suite, sure, she had played in the woods as a child but this was something else. Her mind conjured all manner of enemies in the oppressive fog, spiders, wolves, worse.
Deliberately she stopped and calmed herself. Old Jaq, her tutor in the arts of stealth, always maintained that taking a moment to catch your breath never hurt. Of course Jaq had been killed taking too long in a burglary, so the advice was of dubious quality. There was no true quiet of course, the wildlife chirped and called undisturbed, but without her crashing around, she might be able to hear something.
Distantly, muffled through the fog, she heard voices. Cautiously she pressed forward through the trees. Pausing for a moment she considered the possibility that it was bandits or some other enemy. It seemed unlikely this far off the beaten path, and there was the chance of taking an arrow or blade in the stomach from a nervous ally to consider as well. Comprising she called up her magicka, enjoying the surge of it in her soul. Then she created a magelight, a weak and sputtering thing, but obvious in the fog. With an effort of will she propelled it out ten yards in front of her and started forward.
