Avatar of Alfbie
  • Last Seen: 2 yrs ago
  • Old Guild Username: Alfbie
  • Joined: 10 yrs ago
  • Posts: 339 (0.10 / day)
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  • Username history
    1. Alfbie 10 yrs ago

Status

Recent Statuses

7 yrs ago
Current Hey, all! I will be away on a week-long camping trip from 8/7 to 8/13 and won't be able to respond to RP during that time. I will send replies as soon as I return. Happy summer!
7 yrs ago
Sorry for my disappearance! Out of town for a couple days; thought I'd have internet but I thought wrong. Will post as soon as I can!
1 like
7 yrs ago
That feel-good feeling when you catch up on RPs. For everyone currently writing with me; thank you for your patience. You're all wonderful :)
7 yrs ago
I finally put something in the bio section of this thing! I even made it pretty, ooooh!
2 likes
7 yrs ago
RP'd with me, been gone for a while, and wanting to start something up again? Don't be shy; I'm active!
1 like

Bio

Why, Hello There!


Welcome to my nifty little hovel! *bows* Who you'll find here is an aspiring writer with over 15 years of various RP experience. I prefer plot-driven fantasy and/or supernatural RPs with a romantic twist. I write from the mid-casual to high-advanced levels and am fairly open-minded when it comes to mature content. I am always looking for new RP partners, so if any of this sounds interesting to you, don't be shy!

~◊~

What I Look For in an RP Partner


You must be *this tall* to write with me. Please be over 18.

One liners are the devil. Though I prefer literate quality over quantity (especially when it comes to dialogue), if you're the type that practically writes a novel per post, I'll love you forever. If you can only crank out a couple of paragraphs but they engage me, I'll be just as excited. All I ask is a touch of effort.

Get your chit chat on. I like to make friends with my RP partners, so if you're the type that loves OOC chat, by all means yammer away! I also LOVE discussing the RP, so please please please don't hesitate to speak your mind if you're bored, stuck, have an idea, or just want to be silly in OOC with your characters. I am remarkably flexible and would rather rewrite scenes and/or scrap weeks/months of RP for something new than watch one die due to lack of communication.

Leave you slice-of-life, fluff, and tavern RP at the door. I have nothing against these things--in fact I expect any and all of these things in my RP and then some because that's the stuff of developing character relationships. However, I need more--conflict, a purpose, a goal, some sort of basic storytelling device to keep the RP going. Essentially, I need direction through plot; I get lost and anxious if all our characters ever do is talk.

Own your flakiness. We've all done it--ditched an RP without a word. It happens. I understand. But please tell me if you're just not feeling it or if you need to take a break for any reason. I am incredibly patient and have picked RPs back up that have been under hiatus for months and even years. Thus, your absence would be just that--absence. If you are someone that has suddenly ditched without a word and want to return, hit me up! I promise I won't gripe or fuss; I'm just happy to RP.

Get it--got it--good! If I haven't scared you away by this point, please drop me a PM! Even if you don't have a specific idea in mind, I am more than happy to help you brainstorm something awesome.

~◊~
My Roleplays

Thread RP

Rising Winds and Shifting Sands (Active) with Nemaisare

Underneath (Active) with Nemaisare

The Lost Princess (Inactive) with Aelin

Crimson Moons (Inactive) with Love Dove

Vanish Into Light (Inactive) with El Taco Taco

The Empress of the Underground (Inactive) with mamagermany

A Journey for Peace (Inactive) with Arrayah

PM RP Partners

CoyoteLovely

Light the Dark

Burning Daisies

Hellish Hin

Jinny

NOTE: Avatar artwork is NOT mine (I wish it was)! It is Thorns by Candra. Used without permission.

Most Recent Posts

In Underneath 7 yrs ago Forum: 1x1 Roleplay
Jeron narrowed his eyes to the laugh, knowing when he was being mocked when he heard it, numb to the way this woman’s gesture aimed to hurt the way skin forms callouses over consistently damaged areas. He had heard such a laugh before, usually while captive and pleading his innocence over things that had transpired while he was never around. Did she think she could discourage him with that barbed laugh and those harsh words? He had heard worse, endured worse, though he had to admit that this was the very first time anyone had mocked him before learning what sort of creature he was.

Usually, he made great pains to avoid talking to anyone at all costs.

A charred rope cut into her scorched skin as her corpse hung from a tree, and he knew he would never hear poisonous words pour from her mouth again.

Empty blue eyes like glass marbles gazed at him, unblinking, as a shock of dark blood stained the white snow beneath her, and he knew he would never hear kind words from her or anyone else again.

Each lash of the whip marked his failure to save his mother, his failure to save his only friend, his failure in life, as his pain-filled cries rang out desperate pleas to kill the greater pain that consumed his heart. All the while, the mocking jeers nibbled away at what little of his humanity remained.


He needed to try harder to keep from interacting with strangers.

Once Jeron realized that this woman was not going to help him, he ignored her entirely, her presence suddenly insignificant. As she turned to leave, he turned as well, dashing her from his thoughts as he moved in the opposite direction.

~~

It was odd how quiet this forest was. No bird prattled its business in the treetops above. No lizard or squirrel scurried about in the thin, mossy undergrowth. Bears did not lumber and snort through the shadows, wolves did not slink about around him. It was as though the forest knew what he was and had chosen to shun him like every other living creature; ruefully, he almost thought it a wonder that the grass beneath him did not wither and die beneath his feet and that the trees did not fall every time he touched them.

For all that this forest was, it had a strangely calming effect on him. He could feel energy, magical energy run through this place like life-giving blood veins delivering nourishment to flesh and bone. It was something he never sensed before; he could not say from experience that he felt in tune to the enchantment around him, yet somehow he knew, like how one knows he is hot or cold when he feels it. Jeron began to wonder if he needed to find this rumored magical beast at all or if he could just simply live in this forest for a time, somehow absorb its magical energy, and use it to carry out his plans.

Thought of killing the beast made Jeron suddenly aware of how late it was, the last breath of twilight threading through the thick trees. Suddenly feeling uneasy, Jeron shifted his focus to prepare for nightfall survival. He ate moss, the only thing familiar in these strange woods, and hoped such instinct would not prove to be his folly in the consumption of it. He prepared a makeshift lance with a long stick simply by breaking off the end in such a way that it formed an uneven edge, like a point. He wished he had his carving knife, or most of his other things. He used another stick as a torch, channeling the only magical spell he knew within it—fire—a chill running along his body each time the top of the stick ignited with flame. With nothing flammable to keep the torchlight going on its own, Jeron used his light sparingly, knowing that if he didn’t, he would freeze to death in the middle of this summer before sunrise.

Hungry and woefully unprepared for survival in a magical forest let alone for hunting an enchanted beast, Jeron climbed up a tree for the night, settling within its sturdy branches. For reasons he could not fathom, the moon did not shine in this place, making it difficult for him to see in the darkness despite his somewhat enhanced night vision, an unintended gift from his father. Yet the forest seemed to come alive. Jeron smelled the blood-tinged breath, heard the frenzied snorts, and felt the trembling weight of some sort of creature moving about below him—no, several of them. He dared not make light to see and could only make out indiscernible shapes below, but the creatures did not sound docile. Could this be what he was looking for? As eager and desperate as he was to finally consume dragon’s blood, to obtain untold power, and to finally hold an upper hand in a world bent on snuffing him out, he did not attack what he could not see, what he could not anticipate. He realized, woefully, how foolish he had been to come here. He should have tried harder to look for his sword when he had escaped the humans that would lurk for him outside the forest walls. He should have not gotten himself caught in the first place—again.

So he sat there, clinging to the tree, waited for the sounds of hungry beasts to subside, and eventually succumbed to exhaustion.

”You can’t hide forever,” Maura intoned, swinging her legs from the tree limb she sat on as she bit into a pear.

“I know,” Jeron replied with a sigh, gazing at the moon that rose into the darkened sky like a friend come to greet him. He found its cold light warm, soothing. “But the others aren’t like you. Mother says—“

“Forget what she says. She beats you and curses you every day. She poisons you with her words of blame and hate.” Young Maura grasped Jeron’s dark hand, her own skin like ivory in the moonlight, and cast him a pleading gaze, her expression not any less clear in the dark. “But she is wrong about you. You are kind and thoughtful; a good friend. I see the good in you, the humanity in you, and I know that if I just introduce you to the village, they’ll love you as much as I do.”

She had seen the humanity in those that sought to kill what they did not understand.


Jeron, fast asleep unable to secure himself on the tree, slid off it and plummeted to the ground hard. He awoke to the jarring impact, the gnashing of teeth, the loud and eager snarling, and of something sharp lashing through his clothes and skin. He returned to the waking state screaming, at first thinking that he was being tortured by an angry mob of humans. Instead, he realized in disoriented panic that he had fallen from the tree and was being torn apart by the creatures below.

Somehow, he managed to stagger to his feet, casting fire in an arch in front of him, not caring how the act plunged his body in a cold shock. In that brief burst of light, he could see the creatures surround him, but the flames moved harmlessly through them as though he was attacking shadows. But somehow they were not mere shadows as he felt something intangible very tangibly bite into his arm in an attempt to drag him down. He swung his stick at it, not hitting anything, but the act of doing so seemed to be enough for the shadow creature to let go. So he continued this assault, whirling around and swinging his stick, flinging fire everywhere, screaming in fear and ferocity. But still they came, lashing at his clothes, tearing open his flesh, until Jeron could barely stand, swinging his stick listlessly…

Sunlight pierced through the darkness, heralding a new day, and the shadow creatures vanished as though they had never been.

Jeron, his clothes in tatters, his face exposed, silver hair spilling around his shoulders, gasped for breath, in so much pain that his other senses were numb save for the intense chill from using too much fire. He collapsed on the ground and did not bother to rise, this slender creature with ash-grey skin, pointed ears, and silver hair. This elven creature, who looked very much like a dark elf, appeared to be part of a race of beings that were perceived to be more frightening than anything this forest could produce.
“It is,” Aleksander replied with a nod and an apologetic look her way. “We’re kind of important to trade in the underlying regions, ever since—“ Ever since the fall of her kingdom.

Alek shifted his weight uncomfortably before taking Caitriona to the nearest room with a place to sit, a great conference hall, its space taken up almost entirely by a long oak table, framed by several chairs. Carefully, the prince set Caitriona down on one of the chairs before straightening and looking around awkwardly, swinging his arms in a nervous gesture.

“We should probably talk about your parents before long,” he said, avoiding her gaze. “Their fate, and—“ He cut himself off as a servant woman, in the white-and-brown uniform dress of her station, slipped into the room, Alek’s expression a brief reflection of relief before he smiled and moved to embrace the slender woman. She embraced him back warmly, a touch of grey in her bound brown hair, laugh lines framing her blue eyes as she smiled. That kindness only faltered a little as Alek gestured towards Caitriona, turning the woman’s attention to the mysterious girl.

“This is Princess Caitriona,” he said, pride in his voice despite the blonde girl’s disheveled appearance.

The woman responded with an appraising look. “I see.”

“Princess, this is Gilda. She’s the head servant here in this castle. She’s been around since I was a tiny boy. She’ll take care of you.”

“It’ll be my pleasure,” Gilda said, her smile forced but not unkind. She approached Cait and bowed courteously. “Pleased to meet your acquaintance. Now…” She glanced to Alek for help. “Where is she…?”

“Her foot,” he said quickly.

“Ah.” Gilda turned her attention back to Caitriona. “If you’ll just let me examine your foot. I normally take over such things before the physician gets here.” She dropped to one knee and waited politely for Caitriona’s signal.
Aleksander's first reaction was to snatch a glance at Caitriona. The flurry of activity didn't bother him; he even expected it, always a little proud that his servants were so eager to do their jobs, a little humbled by their hard work, and a little embarrassed that they fussed over him so. He was not his parents. Until they died, he was just a quiet boy trying to find his identity. Now that identity had been thrust upon him; he had no choice but to be king. He had to learn to get used to suddenly being fussed over and coddled, and he suspected that this sudden attention must be like a tidal wave crashing against the lost princess.

He broke his stern demeanor, his expression softening. "Do you want new clothes?" he asked. "Something to eat? A bath? Some rest?" He frowned a little. "Or are you not sure, perhaps?" He glanced at the maidservant. "She'll need new clothes eventually; might as well fetch the tailor," he murmured. Then, to Caitriona: "This is your home now. Whatever you need, all you need to do is ask."
"My father knew this place well," Aleksander murmured, the way Catriona looked around making him also observe his surroundings. He had grown up here, the ivy-covered stone walls, tended cobblestone courtyard, pruned bushes, and lush atmosphere nothing new to him. But if Catriona somehow spent most of her life in a forest without being found, he could see how sturdy walls could be impressive, careful order would be reassuring, and care to detail would be considered beautiful. "The servants he picked to tend to this place were all hand picked by him. Loyal. They love this castle as much as he did. I hope I could instill that same sense of passion and commitment in them." His voice sounded a little tight, holding back emotions he dared not release here and now. "As for your parents..." He felt that now was not the right time to reveal to her the fate her family and her kingdom.

Instead, Aleksander carefully dismounted the horse as one of the servants took the beast's reigns, ensuring that he did not jostle Catriona too much as he did so. Then he carefully helped the girl down, holding her in his arms. "This girl needs a physician," he called to the entourage of servants that came to greet him. "And have a hot meal prepared for her. And a bath. Get a bed chamber ready."

"Who is she, Your Highness?" one of the maid servants asked, she and all the others doing their best to be polite as they gawked at the strange and unruly girl in Aleksander's arms.

"She is Princess Catriona," Aleksander remarked in a stiff tone as he began to march forward into the palace, in no mood to answer twenty questions to the servants. Gasps bounced around the courtyard, more attention drawn to Catriona as everyone near Aleksander tried to puzzle out their king's statement to a girl that looked like she was plucked from the streets.
Two people dressed in fine robes in the middle of the forest, calling Catriona's name... Aleksander struggled to recall anyone that might fit that description, but it was so vague; it could be anyone, anyone that already knew Catriona.

"You don't need to apologize," he stated as he slowed the horse to a walk down a sloping hill, his castle and the village that surrounded it looming into view. "You may have hit your head when you received that leg injury." It crossed his mind to inspect her scalp for injuries but held back, finding it inappropriate and rude to do that to a woman. It was bad enough how they were riding together without invading more of her privacy.

"It sounds to me like you were abducted by people that know you. I'll ask around, see if anyone knows anything. Whoever took you must be nobles of some sort. Do you remember anything about what they looked like?"

As they rode into the village, peasants and merchants greeted the prince with smiles, bows, or greetings of well wishes. Children ran alongside the horse, laughing and teasing Aleksander. All of them gazed at the girl in his arms curiously, and Aleksander knew there would be gossip floating around later. He tried to roll such things off his shoulders; the important thing was getting her home safe, mending her, and trying to figure out what happened to her.
"I am Prince Aleksander of Perrault," he murmured, speaking as though they were not allowed to speak to each other. On the contrary, he knew he could do whatever he pleased, but somehow the thought of the others butting into the conversation unnerved him. He knew in his gut that he was correct, that the girl situated in front of him--against him--on the horse was Princess Catriona of Aronia, the girl he was supposed to marry, the girl that went missing years ago and was presumed dead. Yet he knew that the others doubted the claim, and he did not feel like arguing the validity of his proof. Not now. Not while he was still trying to wrap his own mind around the concept.

"I am not mistaken," he hissed, his declaration absolute. "That birthmark on your shoulder is proof, as is the necklace. No two people could bare both unique markers; you are the princess." And a grown woman at that, unable to help but feel the shape of her body against him as she shifted to the horse's gait. It didn't help that he held his arms around her in order to hold the reigns. It was a struggle to keep his mind off of such things. "How do you not remember anything? Not where you've been all these years and how you came here? What do you know, besides your name and age?"
Yaaaay! Glad to hear it!
In Underneath 7 yrs ago Forum: 1x1 Roleplay
Jeron was as still as the trees around him, his eyes assessing this laughing girl warily. No one had ever laughed at him before.

No, that wasn’t true.

Maura laughed, her smile wide, the joy in her eyes twinkling even in the darkness of night. She pulled back some of her frizzy hair even as the wind teased it from her head scarf, refusing to be hidden and confined, like the rest of her. Only eight years of age and already she held more compassion and understanding than any elder Jeron knew. For her to laugh around him instead of run away was astonishing and altogether fascinating.

“You’re so weird sometimes, but it’s funny. I like it. No one makes me laugh like you do.”


Jeron looked away. This woman, whoever she was, was not Maura. He knew with certainty that if he lowered his cowl and revealed his face, she would react like all the rest of them—with fear, with anger, with ignorance. So, why was she laughing? Her words her difficult to follow, and he dared to pull his focus away from this stranger long enough to chew on her heavy dialect. He wasn’t used to anyone talking to him. What did she…?

He sighed, breaking his stillness, and brought up his guard once more. “It’s true,” he remarked defensively, hoping he understood her well enough to respond correctly. “The danger out there really is worse than anything in here. But you wouldn’t know. You probably were never captured, strung up, enduring beatings and all manner of torture just because you look like someone that could harm your children. You were never told words that cut so deep you felt like your soul was bleeding, of how vile and worthless you are, every single day, for reasons you still do not understand. You’ve never been unanimously hated. You—“

He cut himself off, gasping in mortification of the way he let himself go, trembling in shock. He had let his emotions get the best of him. At any time, she could have lunged at him, all because he was distracted. By things he could not change.

Subconsciously, he rubbed at his wrists where the rope burns still stung his skin, a reminder of what letting his guard down at any time meant. He had to pull himself together.

“Take me to the dragon that resides in this forest,” he said with as much confidence as he could muster.
lol thank you! Appreciate it. Good luck in getting better! *hugs*
Drink lots of fluids! Get plenty of sleep!
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