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Hello and welcome to my all-inclusive interest check! Please come in and have a look over everything I've laid out. I hope to keep this up to date with plots, pairings, and other general bits of roleplaying inspiration.

If anything interests you, I ask that you PM me instead of replying to this thread. I really want to keep this thread looking nice and tidy, and it is incredibly likely that I won't see your reply. PMs are the best way to reach me.

Thank you!



Status: Open and Searching

Current Plot Craving(s):
"An Autumn Wedding"

Current Pairing Craving(s):
P R I N C E P R I N C E S S





My name is Tim and I'm a 25 year old Male who got hooked on roleplaying around 2009 when Deviant Art chat rooms were a big thing. Since then, I've been in and out of the game, but I've never stopped writing. I'm well out of school now and have entered the general workforce, and on top of my job, I have several hobbies that have been known to demand my attention. But, no matter what happens, I am the sort of person who believes in maintaining an open line of communication with my roleplaying partner(s), and regardless of how busy I can get, I tend to churn out at least a post a day (sometimes two) most of the time, and a post every other day at all other times.

That being said, I recognize that things happen and schedules change. If something is to happen in my life that will draw me away from our roleplay, I will not hesitate to notify you. And I do ask that you offer me the same courtesy.




G E N E R A L P R E F E R E N C E S
= optional but strongly desired!

  • High Preference for Romance
  • M/F Romantic Pairings (Female Partner Preferred)
  • Smut
  • Story:Smut Ratio = 60:40 or 70:30
  • High Casual - Advanced (except during scenes with heavy dialogue/action)
  • Multiple Characters1
  • Focus on World Building and Character Relationships
  • Character Sheets
  • OOC Planning (Story Arcs, Character Arcs, Villains, Plotting, etc.)
  • General OOC Communication (Discord is Ideal)
  • Monster Girls2 (not furries!)
  • Harem Romance



1 Please note that, while I do ask that my partners are open to playing multiple main characters, I do not expect for the bulk of the roleplaying labor to be placed upon their shoulders. Therefore, on top of playing my main character, I am more than happy to take point when it comes to playing villains, coming up with story arcs, and general world building. Naturally, I would like for this roleplay to be a collaborative endeavor, but I also want to ensure that my partner doesn't feel as though the burden of storytelling is tipped unfairly.

2 Please ALSO note that my request for monster girls does not mean that I ONLY wish you to play monster girls. To be frank, such a lack in variety would be truly boring and I GLADLY accept more common races such as Humans, Elves, and the like. My request was never meant to replace the standard, but rather to accent it.






G E N R E S

Fantasy || Action || Adventure || Romance


P O T E N T I A L S E T T I N G S

Medieval || Victorian || Steam Punk || Silk Punk || Diesel Punk

(note that all settings take place in an entirely fictional world)




"An Autumn Wedding"



For the past five generations, the Royal Court of Thiria has ruled over Palara – a vast Human empire to the North – with compassion, dignity, and grace. And so long as a Thirian noble has sat upon the high throne, Palara has been a land of great intellect and unrivaled industry. But no such kingdom was built overnight, and it is only thanks to the tireless efforts of the First Queen Anwyn’s diplomatic missions to all the neighboring kingdoms that allowed for Palara’s future security.

Unlike the other potential courts of Palara, the Thirian Court is not made up of individuals who have been bred for warfare. No, Thirian nobles are scholarly folk who would far rather discuss and communicate than fight on a battlefield. As such, the pilgrimages made by Queen Anwyn did a great deal to endure Palara’s safety by seeking out powerful militaristic allies and forming tight bonds between them that have endured many decades due in no small part to their strong foundations.

However, with a governmental mantra as unorthodox as this, Thiria was bound to face opposition – and indeed as the years went by, strife of varying degrees struck more than once. Yet even so, the Kings and Queens of Palara managed to remain strong in the face of adversity and maintain their composure even as entire armies stood at their very threshold.

And so the generations passed with relative peace.

But peace is fleeting, and soon the Thirians were faced with a threat that neither they nor their current allies could best. Therefore, after many council meetings and discussions with his most trusted advisors, King Ifor was forced to seek aid from elsewhere – a distant kingdom that was legendary for its power and skill in warfare.

Various messengers crossed the vast distances between the two kingdoms, and a conference was arranged that would take place at a secluded country estate belonging to the Court of Thiria where an alliance would (hopefully) be struck through marriage.

Prince Baxter Purcell is the eldest son of Grand Duke Purcell, and the only young noble not yet wed, betrothed, or promised to another. As such, he was taken from his studies and brought to the Hazelwood Estate and prepared for the arrival of a distant princess who, he was instructed, he was intended to wed.

Nervous and unsure, the soft-spoken and introspective prince felt compelled to accept; although struggled to shake the feeling that he wasn’t at all cut out for such an endeavor. Nevertheless, he knew all too well that the safety of Palara was at stake, and this, as a Prince of Thiria, was his duty.

And perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad? Perhaps, thought the young and handsome Baxter, he might even like the princess? If that were the case, love could be on the horizon, couldn’t it?
W I P



"The Second Coming of the Eternal Shadow"



Long ago, in a time almost beyond memory, a powerful curse blinded the Gods and forced the world into what would come to be known as the First Century of Darkness. Without their sight, the divine could not see the fractures between the realms. And so, Demons slipped through into the mortal realm where, in their lust for bloodshed, they embarked upon great, terrifying conquests filled with death and torment.

Their arrival harkened the birth of a shadow which fed off of mortal suffering and spread throughout the lands. Insatiable, it swallowed up entire provinces, leaving nothing behind but rot and decay.

After just a decade, more than a dozen great empires fell to ruin, and entire races found themselves threatened with extinction.

For a time, it seemed that all was lost.

But then, in the darkest hour, a few mortals rose up to bring hope to the hopeless. On the surface they were simple folk: farmers, merchants, florists, blacksmiths... Nevertheless, they stood in spite of the overwhelming tide of despair and took up arms against the Demons and their masters. Although the odds were against them, they fought. Indeed, many of them perished. Yet, those among them who lived continued to push back against the great shadow, undeterred by the threat of death.

And they were the ones who kept the world from falling completely into the maw of shadow.

In the end, every hero who rose up against the Demons died a gruesome death. Even so, their willingness to stand when no one else could is what kept the waves of darkness back until the sight of the Gods returned and the encroaching shade could be banished once and for all.

Then, in an act of gratitude, the Gods and Mortals came together to erect a magnificent feast hall that was dubbed The Hall of Eternity; which was then transported into the afterlife and given as a gift to the heroes who fought for the people during the First Century of Darkness. There, the heroes were free to eat, drink, and rest until the end of time.

Unless, of course, they were called upon again.

Now, around two millennia have passed since the First Century of the Darkness and the mortal world has largely forgotten about the heroes of old. Certainly there are stories, but written records of that time (and ages that came before it) are scarce.

Stories -- bard songs and fireside tales told by half-blind old nurses to the children in their care -- were some of the only things that endured the years to serve as a vague reminder of what those hundred years were truly like.

And for a time, the myths and legends were satisfactory.

That is, until the Gods fell silent once more. All of a sudden, prayers went unanswered, holy warriors lost their blessings, and century-old pacts between the divine and their loyal servants were severed. Without warning, the very presence of the Gods vanished behind their ancient temple doors, and try as they might, no mortal could budge them to see where their beloved deities had gone to.

Despair settled across the lands.

Then, three great storms erupted in the corners of the world. These unnatural tempests tore through the kingdoms of mortals, bringing with them obtuse weather patterns that threw the very seasons off of their normal cycle. Crop fields flooded. Thunderstorms split ancient trees in twain. And blizzards raged through the southern plains.

Naturally, the Demons showed themselves not long after -- taking advantage, yet again, of the ever-growing fractures between the realms to slip through and resume their crusade for mortal bloodshed.

But neither storms nor Demons could compare to the most unexpected threat that would arise from the Silence of the Gods:

The Iron King.

For it was he, a mere mortal, who would drag the world down into another Century of Darkness. By his own hand, he fed the eternal shadow. Beneath his fist he crushed the provinces that once saw the birth of great heroes. And at his word, he was deemed the One True God of Man, and those who did not bow to his name were executed as heretics.

Fifty years passed, and no one rose against the darkness.

Truly it began to seem that the Iron King was immortal. With each passing day, his empire grew. Monolithic gateways between the realms were erected atop the bodies of slaves. More and more Demons poured into the land, ravaging it to the brink of annihilation. Those who did not bow were slain. Those who were not slain were drained and slaughtered. And those who fled were parted from their flesh by the winds of the tempests.

All seemed lost.

But a small sisterhood, working in secret, took it upon themselves to call for help from the Hall of Eternity using a circle of ancient, forbidden magic. And Ulios, the God of the Hall sent them a hero.

Just one.

A gentle-faced man with mahogany eyes and a honey-toned voice. His name was Sir Benedict. But the stories called him Gentle Ben. Certainly with a title such as that, he was ill prepared to vanquish anything -- let alone face the Iron King.

But the deed was done, and the circle was spent. The sisterhood, having used up the last of their magic, was then left with no choice but to trust Ulios' judgement and accept that this simple man was to be their hero.



"The Price of a Wish"



Once, a great many centuries ago, there was a family of faeries who had the ability to grant a mortal any wish that they desired in exchange for a single precious memory. With such a potent magic at their fingertips, they were often sought out by tenacious humans who desired fame, fortune, and power of their own. As such, over the years, the faeries granted hundreds of wishes; and in the process great heroes were born, terrible tyrants rose to power, and bizarre fauna were crafted from the fantasies of mundane folk looking to escape their simple lives.

Yet, although satisfied with their ever-growing collection of memories, the fae grew tired of the pestering and desired nothing more than to be left alone.

So one day, they vanished.

Unsurprisingly, most humans, fickle as they were, forgot about the wish-granting faeries within just a couple of generations. But, there were those who remembered; and who, determined to a fault, continued to seek the fae out – for they and their wishes would not be denied.

Then, over the next decade, each member of the faerie family was hunted down and forced to grant wish after wish for the insatiable, greedy humans who would go on to birth an empire so great and so terrible that the sun never set on its sprawling kingdom. And the fae, pushed to their very limit, perished at the hands of these mortals until only one was left – the old grandmother who managed to escape thanks to the help of a few kind souls. Alone, she fled into the wilderness where, although back in touch with the mothers of nature, she collapsed just off of an old abandoned road where a young, kind faced boy happened to be passing by humming an old folk tune to himself.

Desperate for a drink of water, the old fae overcame her distrust and asked the young human for help. The boy stopped and looked to helpless woman. He did not know the stories of their wish-granting powers, for they had well enough faded from mortal memory. No, the boy only saw a gentle old woman in need of help, so he quickly reached for his pouch and handed her his water sack. She thanked him and drank, but it was not enough.

The old fae was going to die.

Realizing her demise was close at hand, the old woman beckoned the boy close and decided that, for his simple act of kindness to a stranger, she would pass her wish-granting powers on to him – though this had never been done before and, certainly, she was not sure how they would manifest within a mortal. Nevertheless, in her final moments, the old faerie placed a kiss upon the boy’s forehead and died.

All of a sudden, the boy felt the great old magic begin to flow through him. In that moment he knew, but could not explain how, that he had been given the ability to do great things. And so he looked to the tall, obelisk-like towers of the empire that had, for his entire life, enslaved his father, whipped his mother, and starved his friends and he wished for the power to stop the pain once and for all.

Then, just like that, a memory slipped away (a mundane memory, to be exact, for the wish-granting powers work quite differently in the hands of a mortal), and the boy’s mind was flooded with skill and knowledge that he had never before imagined. At once, the boy knew how to hold a sword and how to fight; he knew how to maneuver through the midst of a battlefield and how to beat opponents twice his size; he knew how to inspire people and raise entire armies out of farmers and countrymen.

The boy knew how to be a hero, so that is what he became.

Although he was just a child, he, armed with the wish-granting magic, went on to inspire and lead a revolution against the tyrannical kings in a war which ended in liberation. And with the empire defeated, the boy was celebrated for the amazing things that he had done, and the world slipped into a brief, quiet age of peace.

But the boy’s mind could not rest. His head buzzed with the magic of the fae and his body, having been granted amazing skills, wondrous gifts, and terrible magics, would not calm. He yearned for another taste of fame and recognition, yet no evils rose for him to conquer.

So, the boy closed his eyes and wished – and out of his wish came a great and terrible dragon which burned entire villages, wiped out vast fields of livestock, and slaughtered innocents all across the countryside.

Suddenly, the boy was needed once again.

He sprung into action, defeated the dragon, and found himself showered in praise, gifts, and political influence once more. But then it was only a matter of time before boredom struck and the boy felt compelled to give up more of his memories for more opportunities to be seen as a hero.

The cycle continued until the boy became a man. Every so often, a new monster or demon or tyrant would rise out of the blue, and the hero would step in and save the people. Sometimes, the boy would accidentally wish for a creature that he could not defeat. But more wishes easily fixed that problem. In time, the people ran out of ways to thank their savior.

Yet it was never enough for the boy, who continued to fill the world with darker and more twisted monstrosities for him to face off against. After a while, he stopped craving the fame and began to crave a challenge. But when even that no longer became satisfying enough, the selfish, impulsive “hero” began to make wishes just to cater to his own passing whims.

The world fell into chaos, and people quickly learned who was responsible. In their eyes, the young man stopped being a hero, and instead became a plague. He was shunned at first, but the didn’t stop the wishes. Then, they begged him to relent. Nevertheless, he continued. So, faced with the torment being unleashed upon their lands, a coalition of kings and queens conspired to have him assassinated.

The silent mercenary attacked the once famed hero as he slept. But he awoke and killed his assailant. Then the young man fled deeper into the forests, away from the society that now hated him, and compulsively wished himself down to only a handful of memories.

In the end, the boy, now a man, wished away almost all of his memories and awoke in the middle of a dark and sinister wood with nothing but the face of his mother lingering in his mind. Knowing not even his name, the young man made a small home for himself in the trunk of an enormous old oak. And it was there that he lived alone and afraid, because every so often a stranger would come to his door and try to kill him, and he never knew why.

But what if, instead of trying to harm the young man, someone recognized that he was no longer the impulsive, sadistic fool that had wished the world into turmoil, but rather a frightened and confused man who wanted nothing more than to know compassion?

Perhaps, then, something worthwhile could be done to heal the discord.
W I P






P R I N C E P R I N C E S S
C O M M O N E R P R I N C E S S
K N I G H T P R I N C E S S
A S S A S S I N P R I N C E S S

P R I N C E V A M P I R E S S
K N I G H T V A M P I R E S S
G U N S L I N G E R V A M P I R E S S
H U N T E R V A M P I R E S S
V A M P I R E V A M P I R E S S

C O M M O N E R A N G E L

C O M M O N E R D E M O N E S S



F I N .



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