Blackfridayrule

(ignore this)

Here we go!

Seeking advanced long term partner for 1x1 rp!

Looking for someone to write with who's willing to put in lots of effort into a post (several paragraphs please, though 'meat' is the most important thing for a post, IMO) post regularly (maybe a couple times a week at least? Ish?) and who will stick with it for the long haul. Looking for someone who will contribute to the world building and plot and in general be an equal creator alongside me. No groups please.

Things I'm not into:
Romance (sorry, it's not my thing. not banning it from happening in the story or anything but I don't want it to be the whole point of the plot)
Zombies/vampires/demons/werewolves
'school' plots
Fandoms

Things I am into:
Adventure
High fantasy
Some Sci-fi
platonic relationships

Pretty open to lots of different ideas. The way I usually do things is come up with some kind of situation where our characters meet and some reason to make them stick together, but then leave it open from there (unless you have further ideas, I'm cool with that too) but I generally just like to have a starting point at least.

--Maybe your character winds up wandering a perilous desert for some purpose (I'll leave that to you. Escaping something? On a mission? Up to you.) but it doesn't go well for them; my character knows the desert well and takes yours in, gets them back to health and offers to help guide them out/onward. Could be sci-fi or fantasy setting.

--Something apocalypse/post apocalypse flavored? A pair of resource hunters or mercenaries or just two people trying to get by?

--Maybe something involving dystopias?

--A pair of thieves, newly joined together for mayhem and mischief in a high fantasy setting?

Let me hear your thoughts. What are you into? What thoughts do you have? Hit me up!

In Dark Seas We Sail

For a while, the only word Uban really heard was “Sacrifice”. Once again he remembered when the great beast opened its pointed maw, and the smell of its breath and the wide, open space of darkness that was its interior. He thought for sure it would clamp down on him for his insolence. What he did was pretty stupid. And if he’d been thinking about it longer he probably would have told the creature that he could hold lighting in his hands and call it to heel like an obedient dog. And then done his best to live up to that description. But no. In his panic and stupidity he nearly got himself killed. Nearly.

Uban eyed the pistols, wondering how their presence had slipped his notice—even before the turtle came. And what exactly had he planned to do with them...? It’s not like shooting the turtle would have done anything...unless he shot the eye, and that would blind it. But they’d both die.

“Unnecessary? So you mean to tell me there was a right answer to that? What was I supposed to say?” He was glad of the oars as he paddles back to the ship. Their sloshing gave him a rhythmic sound to ground him and the effort gave him somewhere to put his energy. No more stray tentacles of lightning squeezed out of his fingers, though his eyes hadn’t yet gone fully green.

Uban sighed in concert with the moaning of the oars. “I get that you can’t prepare me for everything...” he looked down at the passing blue water below him, noting how empty it seemed. Yet he knew somewhere down there was a turtle the size of a galleon at least, lurking without sound or ripple or bubble. “But you can at least tell me what exactly we’re going to summon from the depths when you’ve got a mind to ask it questions? I mean c’mon, don’t they got books on this? Not that I’m great with letters anyway, but—“ he shrugged helplessly. “C’mon you gotta give me something. Throw me a bone, Pieter...What if next time I offend the shit out of something and we both die? Y’know? How did you learn?”

And Uban recalled an albeit hazy memory of the two of them on the beach after the mermaids, after Uban felt like his heart had been grasped with warm, comforting hands and then mercilessly plunged into icy black water. Pieter had told him how he learned about mermaids. And suddenly he regretted asking the question. The answer, he guessed, was probably not a happy one.

He shook his head, letting his lips flap together like a horse as he sighed. “I don’t know, Pieter. I just feel a little out of my league here. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I don’t want to be your apprentice—I do. I really do. I just...do you....do you think I’m cut out for it? Truthfully?” Uban wanted to be. He was unsure when Pieter had first asked him but since he’d had time to mull it over, and especially now that he was beginning to understand just how vast the ocean really was, he decided it was really something he wanted. He had never made anything of himself, not once in his life. And he’d gone from being one kind of lowborn sap to another, if not progressively lower. Murderer of one of his good friends was a hard reputation to fully shake off, even though he’d killed since. This was a chance for him to actually accomplish something. Be someone. But....he thought of the turtle. It’s mouth. Those eyes. And his asinine offering. Would be he be so lucky the next time?

—

Rohaan was already asleep. Not deeply, but enough that his dreams of warped reality made it difficult for him to reconcile where he was when the sound of footsteps coming below woke him. He moaned a little in indignation and then with a grimace reached over the side of the hammock to snatch Uban’s wool blanket and pulled it over himself. His body didn’t seem to want to work like it should; it had been a very long time since he’d been pushed to that degree. But at least he got the blanket—a draft of air kept leaking in through the hole in his shirt where only a few days ago he’d been shot. Now the hole, the scar, and the iron ball he wore as a necklace now were the only reminders it had ever happened.

He shut his eyes, allowing himself to fall back asleep more intentionally this time, when he heard heavy footsteps—either Wheel or Berlin by the weight of them—and then..... Wheel had asked Hana (or he guessed it was her by the much lighter, shod footsteps) about blood magic.

Rohaan didn’t know much about it himself, just that it was something that existed. But he knew why Wheel was asking. Barizians. He kept his eyes closed in case more could be gleaned by pretending to be asleep, and he listened carefully.

Festival of Colors (high casual)

bump?

In Dark Seas We Sail

Breathing. He was supposed to do that. Breathe. Right. In and out, just like he always did.

Except he couldn’t.

The great beast’s head loomed closer. Closer. Closer. It’s mouth opened and all he could think of was the wet crunch sound those two points of its beak would make as they liberated his torso from his legs. He didn’t think he’d die today, he really thought that would happen later in some kind of battle or a freak accident falling from the shrouds on a stormy night, not like this.

Oh sweet Tevira don’t let it drag on, don’t let it hurt too bad, don’t—

The turtle laughed. While Uban wasn’t convinced that was a good sign, he also knew that the turtle wasn’t eating them alive in a single snap, so that was something to be thankful for. But then the great turtle relented and proffered up the information they came for, and Uban finally became aware of the fact that he was gripping the sides of the little boat with such force that his fingers were stiff and unwilling to move as he pried them away. Whew. They’d survived the encounter and, reaching for the oars again, he could finally—

Oh, not again.

The thing’s head moved closer to him, closer, closer, until he felt the hard, smooth beak on his cheek and the back of his jaw. For how big and powerful the creature was, he was surprised by how gentle the contact was. How controlled. It whispered something to him, something he didn’t understand but made a forceful effort to commit it to memory for later pondering when his heart wasn’t in his mouth. Only one word, the last, was intelligible to him. Death. Some logical part of him decided that couldn’t be anything good, but at the moment he had other things to think about.

And then it was gone.

Uban stared after it, unmoving, mouth still open. He sat like that for a long time before he blinked and found his voice again. He looked at Pieter, wide eyed. “The hell…?” A few more stunned breaths and then, “I offered up a fucking song? A giant drunk beast of the marine underworld demands a secret from me and I give him William fucking Taylor?? AND YOU LET ME?” He gave a loud, very nervous laugh. “Good grief, Pieter, warn me next time! I mean, what am…what did…you gotta start teaching me what to do in situations like this. I mean….sun and stars…” He put his head in his hands, still chuckling. As he ran his hands over his hair, a little tiny bolt of static jumped out from between his fingers like snake fighting to escape them. His eyes remained bright gold. ‘I think I’m just happy to be alive. Confused, definitely. But still breathing.” He put his hands down on his knees and another arc leapt up, buzzing for a half second before popping out of existence. Noticing, he shook his hands like trying to get water off them and said, “Sorry, sorry, ack! I sometimes start sparking when I’m uh, you know, really really nervous. Like a bloody wool blanket in winter, damn.”

He grabbed the oars again, this time actually managing to plant them in the water and get some force behind them. The effort felt good; it gave somewhere for his nervous energy to go. “So um…..you gonna tell me what that was..?”

—

Berlin paced a little, pretending to check the level of oil in the nearest deck lamp just to give him something to do. It was an unsatisfying action so instead he pulled out his flask from his vest and took a hearty pull from it. He hated waiting. Especially now the he felt like cleaving heads for once. He didn’t usually feel the urge, and that seemed to be his trademark among pirates. When he’d been a young bosun on pirate captain Torvold’s ship Chance’s Folly many years ago, Torvold had once said, “Berlin? Aye, the one who could tear a man in half but don’t want to. That’s him there.”

Except this time he did want to. Berlin didn’t know all of Wheel’s story and he never pressed, but he knew the man had experience with the Barizians and he guessed not all of it was good. Uban, too, had narrowly avoided being sold off to them, saving himself only by escaping from the prison that specialized in taking those of magical blood, and who had an ongoing relationship with slavers of all sorts. And Rohaan… It was enough to make him truly angry. The fact that they not only destroyed a humble fishing town and took captives, captives that were likely being slaughtered as they waited, and that they had marked the majority of his crew in one way or another made him furious. Nobody touched his crew and got away with it.

Nobody.

—

Wheel’s words were of some comfort to Rohaan, though deep down he was still fighting the lurking anxiety of having to face his enemy again. They would try. Many people in the world had. He’d been captured, beaten, starved, and when he’d escaped he’d been kicked at, almost stabbed once, clobbered, trampled, swatted.....the list went on. And even under Berlin’s care he’d been battered a bit in fights and, more recently, shot. The world had tried to kill him and it wouldn’t stop. He knew. And there was no way he’d let that happen.

After shaking out his limp muscles he struggled one item at a time to put the gear away, and then slunk away like an injured dog to lick his wounds. He swiped a bit of salt pork from the foodstores and, not feeling up to climbing the ropes to his own hammock up in the crow’s nest, he settled on Uban’s hammock and lay there, spread eagle like he’d died. He felt like he had. Though through the fear and anxiety he did feel a measure of pride for what he’d done. He was horrible with a shield and equally so with a sword, but at least he was decent with a knife.

Everything felt loose, like the fibers holding his body together had come undone. And now that the adrenaline had passed, he felt every single one of Wheel’s “lessons” on his arms and ribs and legs. He’d be a mass of pallid bruises by tomorrow, and some of the earlier ones were already beginning to show through hot pale welts. Unlike humans, bruises on him showed as white and sometimes ugly green or yellow around the edges, not black and blue. As the ship rocked slowly the hammock also swayed with it, back and forth. It made him feel like he was floating. He lit no lamp down in the crew’s quarters but was content to lay in the darkness and listen to the gentle sound of creaking timbers.

In Dark Seas We Sail

Uban couldn't take his eyes off the thing. Was it proper to call the turtle 'thing'? Probably not--definitely not. It was too majestic, too...BIG. He could see his own reflection in one of its dark eyes, though it didn't seem to study him much, not like he was. Uban was staring. Open mouthed, eyes wide, practically unmoving except for tossing barrels over at Pieter's wordless command. He tried not to, but each time the turtle took a barrel and popped it, crushed it, he couldn't help but see himself in the barrel's place. Except if that were him, it wouldn't be rum sliding down its throat. He surpassed a shiver and hauled over another barrel.

How had this creature, this monolith been in the ocean the whole time and he'd never even heard of it? At least he'd heard about mermaids before. But this...this... Suddenly he had a new appreciation for priesthood and, most of all, Pieter. He took his eyes off the turtle just long enough to admire the older man as he stood in the bobbing, rocking boat, the wind in his hair. Uban was certain then that he'd never see his mentor the same way ever again.

He had also noticed a pattern--to summon mermaids, Pieter had offered rum. The turtle was no different, and he wondered if all the mysterious creatures of the sea bartered like this for rum. Maybe some were partial to whiskey or wine. He thought about all this but didn't open his mouth to ask any question or say anything. He wouldn't dare.

The turtle slipped slowly beneath the water with a gurgling, churning water around it and he realized he'd been holding his breath as Pieter took a sigh of his own. Wow. That was an experience and he knew Rohaan would enjoy hearing the story. Maybe Hana would too. As Pieter gave his final call to the creature, Uban reached out for the oars again, preparing to head back to the--

What?

At first, Uban didn't comprehend what the turtle was saying. Me? Does he mean me? As if there were any on that boat besides the two men. He looked at Pieter for some kind of assurance and then back at the turtle and was immediately lost in its gaze. The one eye fixed on him, and if he thought the creature was intimidating before, he was wrong. Dead wrong. Was this planned? Had Pieter set this up? He tried to look back at Pieter but he couldn't look away. The eye consumed him. He felt the sheer weight of it bearing down on him, hot like the summer sun and weighty like a smith's hammer. And he couldn't look away.

Do something, Uban. Say something. FUCKING DO SOMETHING UBAN.

Did he even have breath anymore? Was he even certain he was alive? No. He felt lost, outside his own body for a span of horrible, electric seconds. If his stomach sunk any lower it'd go through the boat. Don't get us killed. Don't get us killed. Please, by sun and stars don't get us killed, Uban.

But then he found he was able to take in a breath and, as he did so, his gut instinct started to take over. True to form, more trusty and reliable than frost in winter or an obedient sheepdog, Uban grinned. Truthfully, he was wasted as a farmer and should have been born into a troupe of performers, because the performing instinct was strong in him. Whether it stemmed from a desire to hide his own insecurities, came from a result of years of playing and singing in crowded taverns, or because he'd always played the peacemaker between his asshole father and his siblings, Uban could always be counted on to at least pretend to make light of a terrible situation.

With that signature smile on his face, Uban gave a quick "Um..." and cleared his throat as he dropped the oars and let them rest in their binding rings. And that was all the terror he showed to the creature, though Pieter could read him better. "A secret of mine? Right. Okay."

He racked his brain. Secret of mine? He had no secrets, or nothing interesting anyway. He didn't even have much in the way of unique experiences he could rely on for uncommon information. He'd been a simple farmer's son. And then a murderer. Then a poor bastard with no future until Berlin made him a pirate. He thought about things only he knew and only thought of his lightning. As he pondered this, he let a ball of it form writhing and blue in his palm, sitting there as harmlessly as a stone until he clenched his fist and it extinguished with a crack. No, that was just a show, not some piece of knowledge. Uban thought of Rohaan and wished the boy were there so he could exhibit him for the creature (maybe it hadn't seen a shifter before...?) but he realized that would just be more of the same. A show. Knowledge...secrets...He was entirely the wrong person to ask. Uban thought of Hana and wished she were there. He remembered their talk on the beach about magic and all the things that she knew that he didn't. She had plenty of knowledge, plenty of secrets, he was sure. Damn, he wished she were there.

And then it came to him. It was a weak idea, not something he would act on in any confidence but it was all he had. His hazel green eyes had gone a bit gold now after summoning his lightning; he finally was able to break his gaze away from the turtle to look back up at Pieter for a second. In those gold eyes was an apology, for he had no idea if this would satisfy the creature or insult it. But it was all he had. So, closing his eyes, he began softly to sing.

William Taylor was a brisk young sailor
full of heart and full of play
until he did his mind uncover
to a youthful lady gay

Four and twenty Yonin sailors
met him on the king's highway
as he went for to be married
pressed he was and sent away

Folla-diddle-um fol-a-day-ry diddero
folla-diddle-um fol-a day-ry-day

A sailor's clothing she put on
and went board a man-o-war
her pretty little fingers long and slender
they were smeared with pitch and tar

On that ship there was a battle
she amongst the rest did fight
The wind blew off her silver buttons
her breasts were bared all snowy white

Folla-diddle-um fol-a-day-ry diddero
folla-diddle-um fol-a day-ry-day

When the captain did discover
he said, "fair maid! what brought you here?"
"Sir, I'm seeking William Taylor
pressed he was by you last year."

"If you rise up in the morning
ear-ly at the break of day
there you'll spy young William Taylor
walking with his lady gay.

Folla-diddle-um fol-a-day-ry diddero
folla-diddle-um fol-a day-ry-day

She rose early in the morning
ear-ly at the break of day
Here she spied young William Taylor
walking with his lady gay

She procured a pair of pistols
on the ground where she did stand
there she shot poor William Taylor
and the lady at his right hand

Folla-diddle-um fol-a-day-ry diddero
folla-diddle-um fol-a day-ry-day

His voice grew louder as he sang and his final note carried on the wind above the slop of water against the boat. As always, he had a good voice. It was strong in volume but pleasant in tone, and the tune of the old song itself was catchy. Uban guessed that, if it pleased the great turtle at all, it would be humming the tune to itself for a few days. At least, that's what he did when he first heard it.

Uban didn't speak. He didn't want to ruin the effect of his last note ringing over the water, but he also had no idea if he could manage to say anything intelligent or worthwhile, so he opted not to altogether. He simply gave one look up to his mentor, and then back to the massive, deadly, powerful, fickle creature that had all of its attention on him. Right. He could do that. Right?

--

Berlin gave Hana one last soft, subtle smile before turning and, taking a telescoping spyglass from his vest pocket, scanned the horizon for his priest and apprentice. They were far out, and he could barely make out some kind of dark something on the surface of the water that was probably the little boat. And another dark shape. Easily the size of the boat itself, though he could discern no more from it than that at such a distance. He did not see the flapping of oars or waving of arms that might indicate something horrible was happening, so he decided not to send Rohaan out to investigate. Even so, he silently mouthed a very short prayer of safety to lady Tevira.

He turned to watch the boy's progress in his lessons with Wheel and, with an expression that was half smile and half wince, he said to Hana, "Got some kind of tonic or salve for bruises and sore muscles? He's gonna need it." Berlin was half joking, though he didn't doubt that if she did have such a thing, it would be welcomed. Berlin knew that training of any sort meant pain and exhaustion, and Wheel was as good a teacher as any for not being soft on the lad. Perhaps them training together would be good after all.

--

The exercises were grueling. They were not the most intense thing he'd ever done, but the repetition of them made his muscles burn and they lacked any kind of mental stimulation. Which meant he was bored, exhausted, and sore and his patience was waning fast. Still, Rohaan was determined to stick it out. Maybe that was the only thing that kept him going--stupid, bull-headed pride. He did not groan, he did not whine. As troublesome as the lad could be, at least no one could ever accuse him of whining. But he began to slow and fumble as his ten-year-old muscles simply gave up without his consent, until finally after dropping the sword twice, he dropped the shield, too. He did attempt to pick them both back up, but the muscles in his arms wouldn't listen to him anymore and his hands were shaking.

Rohaan looked down at his own limp arms, and then back up at Wheel. In his unnaturally blue eyes was a deep conflict in which half of his mind, the logical part, felt the condition of his limbs and knew he was spent. The other half hated himself for it. Some part of him remembered then what they were doing, what their current purpose was and where they were going. Who they were going to meet on the sea. And, unbidden, he remembered his own brush with Barizians two years ago. Remembered the dark hold where he was kept like a sack of grain--worse than livestock. Remembered the weakness in his muscles and the pain in his limbs...not unlike now.

Rohaan didn't want to feel that way again. Helpless. Hopeless. Weak. Feeling it now and realizing with a stab of anxiety that it was possible for him to be like this during a battle against his most hated enemy, the fight left Rohaan like a candle's light robbed by a cold wind. Feeling some subconscious drive to run and hide, Rohaan unconsciously took a small step back.

"Are they gonna kill me?" He asked. He was dead serious. Real fear was in his eyes and his body language began to scream 'feral'. Withdrawn. Tense. "Do I even have a chance? You know how they fight. I...don't remember. Just guns. I remember guns." And he'd learned about those since. He'd gotten stronger. Older. Smarter. But would that be enough?

Festival of Colors (high casual)

Reposting (and reworking) this idea since the first version of it flopped before it really got off the ground. If you're gonna write with me, please post semi-frequently and be in it for the long haul. Absolutely no groups. 1x1 only. Bonus points for using Discord but not required.

The basics:

There is a yearly festival called the Festival of Colors. It's a celebration of culture and peace on the anniversary of the Armistice of a long, complicated war in which three nations were involved: Azurei, Vyyrica, and Rhylea. Long story short, at the end of this war Vyyrica (the larger of the three) sort of dominated the other two and has attempted some colonization in small amounts. Since Rhylea has some cultural similarities to Vyyrica and doesn't have quite as strong a military, they accepted this smoothly enough and the two nations have been getting on fairly well since. To celebrate this union and the end of the war, The Festival of Colors is held annually. It's full of exchanging customs, swapping stories, F O O D, and a lavish display of each nation's colors.

Azurei, however, was not so stoked about the outcome of this treaty. They felt like their way of life was being threatened by attempted colonization and what little natural resources they had were at risk. Few citizens attend the Festival of Colors and it's no secret to anyone that there is a quiet resentment brooding in the hearts of the Azurei. So at this year's Festival, they attack the event and rekindle the flames of war.

My Character (an Azurei) happens to be at this event and quickly becomes a suspect. However, she is also half Rhylean and in the wake of this event must choose where her loyalties lie.

Your character should be from one of the other two nations (your choice). Whichever one you pick, I'll sort of 'give' to you so that you can create a culture of your own. The other we will build and develop together.

This is only a jumping off point for the plot and I hope that from there, we come up with something together. That's usually how I roll. Perhaps our characters make attempts to de-escalate the impending war? Maybe there's more to it somehow, like another, 4th nation is using the Azurei's unrest to benefit themselves in some way, and there's some sort of conspiracy going on? Maybe your character convinces mine to use her understanding of the culture/language to find the people responsible and bring them to justice? Something else? Always up for suggestions.

Setting wise I was thinking like, maybe some kind of alternate universe, either with 'modern' technology or maybe it's more futuristic slightly? Either that or we could go with a classic fantasy sort of setting. It could honestly work in either.

Anyone interested?

In Dark Seas We Sail

The water boiled before them like a massive blacksmith's quench barrel, white froth rising and turning the dark seas to a light blue-gray color in an increasing radius, much to Uban's surprise. He felt his heart beat faster and his stomach twist. He trusted Pieter, but that didn't mean he wasn't nervous about what would surface. However, he'd spent two years with a nearly feral shape shifter and had thus grown accustomed to seeing large and frightening creatures like cyradan and more ordinary but no less formidable predators like tigers and great bears. It was the unknown that unnerved him. The turtle surfaced it's great head and he felt his fear subside and give way to wonder and awe. It was a gorgeous creature and made even more so by the fact that he'd never seen a sea turtle of any size before, only the small land variety.

The creature asked for more liquor and its great voice resonated through his chest, but there was something sweet and earthy about it, something almost wholesome. His mouth hanging open a bit, he whipped out his flask and poured its contents.

---

Something about the way Berlin looked at Hana hinted that he knew or guessed some of her inner turmoil and doubt. His soft gray eyes were not exactly piercing, not like Rohaan's. They did not bore through the masks of other people with force, they simply saw through them like they were only a mist in the wind. He reached out one rough, massive hand and put it on her shoulder and for the first time she felt a small taste of Berlin's inborn magic. Her fears did not disappear but for a moment they were shrouded a bit and the sting of them felt simply less. Distant and unimportant. In his touch was reassurance that no words could convey and a warmth like holding a mug of hot tea on a cold night.

"And we'll have need of it. You weren't the first medic I've had to seek on land, but you were the first I had to bribe." He laughed softly at that." His eyes found hers and he said coolly but with no less conviction and sincerity, "We are glad to have you, Hanabaptiste." And he meant it.

---

"I would not!" Rohaan stamped his foot indignantly. "You make it sound like I'm weak and...panetic!" Of course, he meant 'pathetic' but it was not part of his regular vocabulary so it was a little fuzzy at times and he simply made a guess at it. "I'll show you panetic!" If there was anything that motivated Rohaan besides survival, it was proving people wrong when they doubted him.

He stooped and scooped up the weapon and the shield, the latter of which he immediately decided he did not like. He thought it was like carrying a brick when trying to hunt. Cumbersome and not very useful. The sword also felt large and awkward compared to the dagger. The dagger was part of him, an extension of his arm, but this? This long, heavy thing was alien and sluggish in his hands as he swung it experimentally. He was also not prepared for the continued momentum the sword had and his casual swing went long and the blade bit just barely into the gunnel beside him.

His deep blue eyes went wide in terror but all his attention had gone from Wheel to Berlin behind him. He was thankfully otherwise occupied with Hana and didn't see Rohaan give a little heave to free it from the dark wood. Breathing hard, his face paled a bit as his silver blood rose to his cheeks in a blush. Embarrassing didn't quite cover it. But when his eyes met Wheel's, his expression turned hard and defiant.

"It's big." He did not say 'too big', even though that's what he was thinking--that would be defeat and that wasn't going to do. "How do I..." Flustered, words were failing him at the moment so he just repeated, "How? And this..." He lifted the little shield a bit and scowled at it. He understood what a shield was for and had seen soldiers with them, but he'd never actually seen someone use one. So he ineloquently asked, "What do I do with it?"

Ascended Castle: I

Eh, nope, that’s a dealbreaker. I’m not gonna our effort into a character that can just die. I don’t play D/D for a reason lol.

Best of luck.

Ascended Castle: I

Intrigued...would this be a small group RP? How many players are you picturing?

Would an indigo be able to do something like element bending?