El Taco Taco Member

Oooh boy. Yeah, I actively hid it for _years_. I've been playing tabletop since I was eight (brother's bullied me into playing the cleric), my folks were okay with that, but they would have flipped if they had known the extent of my roleplaying on the internet. I started in MSN Groups, couldn't have been older than 10, I was big in the Yu-Gi-Oh!, Sailor Moon and Digimon scenes. Moved to the officia Harry Potter Dialogue Center shortly afterwards, stayed until they shut down a couple of years ago. The one time I told school friends, they all called me a freak. My mum once found an app I'd submitted to a Sailor Moon game and freaked out because my character had a male name. Learned quick that it was weird. It actually became an issue in my marriage, hilariously enough! I was too embarrassed to tell my husband, and we spent the first two years of our marriage apart (dual military, he was on deployment when I got out), but when we started living together he found out. At first he thought it was all weird and sexual (which, I can understand, I was hiding it), but I eventually explained it to him. It felt like such a relief! I've made such incredible friends in the past decade plus of roleplaying and I can finally talk about this part of my life with someone. We actually talk a lot about it now, and I've talked to some IRL mates who've been really interested. It's weird, but in a good way. I am not a clever woman.

Taco here, on the hunt for a Dragon Age game! About 5 months ago, I had built a character for a game in Nevarra, pre!Inquisition around 9:32 (so pre!Chantry explosion in DA2), that never got anywhere. I was really fond of the plot—it involved city elves and escaped slaves and working for the hella creepy Mortilitasi! I’ve got a starter and ideas and I’d really love a chance to play things out. My ideal partner writes around 3-6 paragraphs a post, depending on what the game needs, with less for combat and dialogue heavy scenes and more for exposition. I’m a friendly Taco and I like to be buddies with my partner, so be prepared for me to talk your ear off about geology out of game. Content: I'm comfortable with violence and mature romance, so long as it contributes to the plot and isn't forced or squicky. That said, I'll always write to your comfort level. I need someone who can be patient with me. I love to RP, but I’m a full time student who commutes 5+ hours a day during school and I’m married with puppies. There are going to be times where I won’t be around for a few weeks at a time, especially during finals. I’ll never ditch a game forever when it starts, but I have had to take month long hiatuses before. I have bipolar and sometimes I need to step out and take some time for my health. If that’s cool with you, I’ll happily write with you forever!

"Oh! That's her," she whispered to George and Seine, bouncing excitedly, ignoring the sharp look her brother gave her. Xia He looked amused, and Sadie blushed, dropping her voice lower as she leaned in. "She's the one who came to our house when we got our letters!" As frustrating as she had found being told to 'wait and see' all those years ago, she remembered the wonder she’d felt when the woman had transformed into a cat to prove her point. She’d returned in July and Sadie had pinned the severe looking woman in a tight hug. Professor McGonagall had looked rather displeased by that. She fell silent for her speech, listening with interest. Suddenly, she had clapped and the whole room lit up with food and Sadie could only stare. She couldn’t even fathom how much food this was, had never seen… this was incredible. She gasped, looked to Brennan, but he was already piling food onto his plate. He’d never told her about this. Sadie smiled as Seine passed her a large dish of potatoes, scooping a healthy portion. There wasn’t a lot of food at home—it wasn’t her parent’s fault, just sometimes things were tight and they had to make do with what they had. She snuck another glance at Brennan who was chatting with Amos, smirking about something or other. She looked to Seine and George, grinning brightly. “This is amazing! How does this even happen?”

Practice was different without Kearney. The team was off kilter, plays not quite running just right without him. Oliver kept the plays running, did his best to smooth things over. The reserve player was good, but she hadn’t played with the team like Kearney had. She didn’t know the cues, the dance. She was catching on as best she could, but it was just a reminder that Kearney was gone. Perhaps forever. The morning was rough. He wanted nothing more than to keep playing through lunch, to hammer out these issues and get back on their game. But he was aching too—and Oliver realized that, just like the others, _he_ hadn’t played professional Quidditch since December either. He needed a break too. With a heavy heart, he called for lunch. They touched down, the atmosphere decidedly glum. “Take two hoors fir lunch,” he clapped the reserve chaser, Meryl, on the back as she passed, holding her for a moment. “Guid wark it there, Meryl.” “Thanks, Cap’n,” she murmured, looking rather pale, but determined. She nodded, setting off on her own. That wasn’t going to work, he mused, looking to his other two chasers. Hector and Erickson were walking together, arms slung around each other’s shoulders. He was going to have to have words with them later. Oliver looked around the pitch. The stands weren’t empty—oh, the Auror. He’d forgotten about her. It occurred to him that he needed to know who was _protecting_ them. He didn’t want to be blindsided by anything that might happen. He remembered what the Ministry had been like not even a year ago. He swung his broom down from his shoulder, stepping into the stirrup of his broom, rising through the air. Landing on the risers, he approached the Auror, who had somehow been saddled with a small boy with white blonde hair. He arched his brow. “S’the lad yoors then?” He queried, careful to keep his tone friendly. “We’ve stopped fur lunch. Dae ye’ fancy grabbin’ a bite?”

Annnddd bump!

Sadie had held her breath the whole time George sat beneath the silent hat. He'd been so nice to her, and she hoped against hope that he would be sorted into Gryffindor. Perhaps, somehow, her desperate prayers had worked, because not a moment later the hat had shouted _Gryffindor_! She applauded brightly, grinning as Seine stuck two fingers in his mouth and gave a piercing whistle. Sadie noticed, however, that not everyone was as excited as they were. Brennan looked especially grumpy, and even the crazy pretty Xia He seemed... a little hesitant. Still, she plastered on a smile and applauded as the pale blonde boy approached. Others were less polite. Sadie wasn't sure what to make of all this. Scooting over so George could sit, she clapped him on the back happily. "Yay! We're all together!" She cheered, entirely too excited. But she'd been so terrified for so long that she'd come to Hogwarts and would be all alone. She'd had friends at school in Swindon, but they never came round the house to visit. And now she was here, and everything seemed to be better. "Welcome to Gryffindor," Xia He smiled. Rames, Hector became a Ravenclaw to thunderous applause, and Rames, Cassandra to Slytherin. Sadie eyed the dwindling crowd with interest, bouncing in her seat.

For a moment, she thought he might refuse her. He studied her suspiciously, as if she herself hadn’t just sated her thirst with the same water. She arched a brow, waiting patiently. Finally, he accepted the flask, drinking deep. She accepted the flask, setting it beside the unconscious sorcerer. The Drow addressed her, practical. She could appreciate that. “I have some traps and a few cantrips, but they are simple. Pan, if he—“ she hesitated, looking to the pale man and clenched her fist. “_When_ he wakes, can do something more sophisticated.” The Drow was efficient. He’d already gathered a great deal of materials. Chamera breathed deep. She needed to focus. If she lost herself to grief and worry now, they’d all be dead. Sinking her arm into her pack, she willed her equipment to hand, pulling her metal traps from the pocketspace into the prime material plane. Four remaining—she’d need to build more soon, but this would be enough for the night. She set to work, skulking the perimeter of their small camp, considering likely approaches. Hiding them was simple enough, weaving the leg hold traps into the undergrowth, configuring the mechanism with a soft touch. She whistled, hand waving dismissively. The misdirection charm was almost childish in its simplicity, but it would suffice for now. She returned to the clearing, careful to clean her tracks behind her, hoping they had enough hours ahead to survive the night. The Drow had collected a reasonable supply of firewood, built into a sturdy little fire. She approached cautiously, careful to crunch the leaves beneath her boot. She had no desire to startle a Drow. “May I?” She gestured to the firewood, hesitating for a long moment. Pulling off her gloves and tucking them into her belt, she flexed her aching fingers. She crouched, searching her memory for the proper incantation, thumbs touching, hands spread. “_Kal ort’des loryl’flam,_” The Weave leapt to life in her hands, flames curling along the calluses of her fingers, spiraling to the kindling and igniting. Simple magic, but effective. It had warmed her on many nights over the years and saved her life on more than one occasion. Her heart eased at the spread of warm light, better revealing the woods to her. Judging by the width of the trees, they had made good progress. Hopefully, she mused, that progress had been south. Chamera’s hazel eyes glanced to the Drow—and she promptly realized she had no idea what he was called. Nor he her. It wasn’t the first time she’d run off on adventures with someone she barely knew, but it had been many years since she had been so careless. She raised her hands to the flames, warming them for a brief moment. “My name is Chamera Balkious,” she remarked, watching the flickering flames. “I was investigating Shadowdale for the Harpers.” She touched the pin on the neck of her shirt, scarred thumb running circles across the little silver harp. “We knew the Zhents had conquered the Dale, but now how. Pan and his company were my cover.” And now the village lay in tatters, the capital of the Dale utterly destroyed. Brilliant work on her part. She began to unlace the bracer of her wounded arm, easing back shattered chain and leather to reveal the gouge. It was not too deep, and the tight lacing of the bracer seemed to have reduced the bleeding. Chamera dug into her pouch, free arm sinking to the elbow, and withdrew a small roll of bandages. She studied the wound, gingerly turning her arm in the firelight. It would scar, joining the numerous other marks across her tanned flesh, but her arm would survive. That was something. “And you are?” She queried as she worked, unable to deny her curiosity. “How’d you end up as a sacrifice to Bane?”

She was being watched. It was decent work, but Samaire suspected that the woman, Ilaeyra, had been chosen more for her loyalty than her silent footfalls. She was subtle, though. Never stared, never lingered, and never acted strange. But Ilaeyra made for a constant shadow and shadows always had cause. The week passed in a blur of mud and aches. They slowly dug out the rest of the houses, drained the fields and life, finally, began to return to some semblance of normal. Or not quite. There were still whispers and nervous prayers around every corner. No one could make head nor tails of the stag in the wood nor the slope, but most people seemed to agree that they must be connected. Samaire rather hoped that it had just been heavy rain. The next night, a patrol found another stag without its heart. _____________________________________________________________________________ The pale column of her mother’s throat is marred by the burn of chains. Her hands are raw and blistering, but she is gloriously _alive_. Samaire helps her into the spring, winces as her mother shudders in its healing waters. Somewhere in the forrest, the nymphs are weeping, their songs like mournful bells in the shadows. Her mother has not cried since Samaire found her in the courtyard, cradling her Gildas’ headless corpse. She whispers the names of her sons in mournful refrain, like a prayer will somehow stitch their heads back onto their shoulders. Samaire cleans her mother’s slender hands, lets the waters do the wishing because all of her wishes are for fire and death. Her mother collapses when Samaire gently tips the water over her throat, slumps against her and they weep in the water. Later that evening, her mother tells her to leave and to never come back. _____________________________________________________________________________ “’Nother stag? That’s what, three now?” Rin’s voice interrupted the relative peace of Samaire’s meal. She looked up from a soulless bowl of broth and potatoes, brow arched. Rin was a slim man, and his voice was thick with accent, but he had always been sensible. Samaire appreciated his brevity. He had never pried, never questioned her about old secrets. He was one of the few who would still speak with her, cast with suspicion as she was. “Six. Olan’s patrol found more just off the road last night. A stag and doe. Her fawn was cut out as well.” “Mother’s mercy,” he swore, shadows in his eyes. Samaire found she lacked her appetite. She forced herself to continue eating. She needed the energy. The mud had been cleared but patrols had been doubled in the mad hunt to find the perpetrator. Samaire suspected that they wouldn’t want to meet the monster responsible face to face. She kept this opinion to herself. Unable to stomach another bite, she rose, bringing her bowl to a pock-faced serving girl, turning a blind eye when she scurried off away from the kitchens. There was little food, with the harvest in ruins and it seemed the smallest were always the first to go without. “Spirits be with you,” she clapped Rin on the shoulder as she passed, thunder shattering in the heavens. Her eyes narrowed. Rain again. It had begun this morning, barely a drizzle. The storm in the heavens now was hardly tamed. Samaire fastened her oiled cloak about her shoulders, drawing her hood. What misfortune, to be on guard duty for the cell with the Thunder Maiden at war with her sparking sisters. Turnover was performed quickly, even with her missing watch partner. She could watch the man-thing well enough on her own, and the men needed a meal and a warm hearth. The wind stung her face, the spray of rain smearing her vision. Samaire burrowed into her cloak, pacing around the iron. The man-thing had been fed, she noted a bowl filling with rain water and earth. Sometime in the past week he had been forced into something that must have once resembled clothes. He was fouled with mud, looked smaller in the driving rain. “What are you?” She wondered quietly, but her reverie was broken by approaching footsteps.

Bump!

Katie’s expression went flat in the ‘Are you fuckin’ kidding me’ sort of way when he called her Jingle Bell. Merlin’s sagging tits, as if she hadn’t heard _that_ one a million times in her short life. A muscle in her jaw twitched at his obnoxious smirk. She wanted nothing more than to draw her wand and blast his fucking face off. He’d been the bane of her existence at Hogwarts, and the past few years hadn’t much improved him, she decided. Well, his teeth had been fixed, but that was like putting a coat of paint on a pile of shit and claiming it was better. “That a threat?” She queried, doing her best to keep her temper under wraps. Merlin, let him say yes. It would feel so _good_ to return fire and break _him_ in half. She wasn’t seventeen and cursed anymore. Playing with the Falcons, even in the reserves, had turned her body into compacted iron, and the war had forged her into steel. He was laughing at her. Katie’s blood rushed through her ears, her fists clenching, nails biting through the flesh of her palm. She was going to fucking kill him—he grabbed her arm forcibly, moving her with annoying ease out of the path of one of the numerous half-trolls that populated the British Irish League. His grip was like a fucking vice—she wouldn’t be surprised if she had bruises. And, more annoyingly, he blamed the near collision on her. Katie was proud that she didn’t wince when he forcibly patted her arm. Her brown eyes narrowed, burning with barely restrained rage. It was a small wonder she hadn’t set him on fire. Her chin jut out defiantly, fists clenched at her sides. He was significantly taller and larger than she was, but she had no doubts that she could outmaneuver him. People always underestimated her, and she was more than happy to take advantage of that. Even with her fucked up leg, Katie Bell was a force to be reckoned with. “Let me be clear, Flint, and I’ll use simple words so you can follow along; if anyone’s getting broken in half, it’s sure as hell not going to be me. Fucking try me. I return fire with interest.” She paused, then continued condescendingly, “You do know what _interest_ is, right?” His team was arriving. Even Katie wasn’t stupid enough to pick a fight with all his mates around him. She tossed her blonde hair out of her face imperiously, hitching her bag better across her shoulder as she stepped away. She recognized his team—Katie made it a point to know her enemy—and their Captain’s flagrant disrespect made her lip curl in distaste. _What a piece of work_, she mused with a derisive scoff. It warmed her bitter little heart to see Flint get treated like shit. At the series of _pops_ all around her, Katie took her cue and apparated herself. The Falmouth Falcon’s stadium was a fucking zoo when she arrived. Reporters had swarmed the apparition zone, cameras flashing and voices raised in alarm. A camera and a quill were shoved in her face the instant she arrived, and it took everything in her power not to fire off a blasting curse at the offenders. “Miss Bell, what do you have to say about these dreadful allegations? Fact? Vicious rumors spread by rivals?” Rita’s cutting voice was loudest over the din, and Katie’s eyes narrowed. What on earth was going on? She shoved past, ignoring the indignant gasp and scratching of the emerald quill, and made her way through the crowd into the stadium and the team locker room. She didn’t expect to find the entire team there, starting string and reserve. She certainly didn’t expect the team’s owner, Gutaale, a stout and swarthy wizard to be at the head of the crowd. He looked grim, his heavy brows furrowed over his calculating eyes. Katie dropped her bag by an empty patch of bench, seating herself as she examined the crowd. No… not everyone was here. The starting chasers were all gone. She’d know if Johannes was here—he was nearly seven feet tall, he was not the sort of dude who hid in a crowd. And wherever Johannes was, Kyle and Orion were sure to be close by. Shit, Santiago was gone too. “Is that everyone?” The Falcon’s manager, a slim and cagey looking wizard with a wiry moustache, asked. She stared. How did Petyr not realize they were missing four people? It wasn’t like Petyr didn’t know them—shit, he’d remembered her birthday and inquired after her kneazle and she was just a reserve chaser. He wasn’t uninvolved. Her fellow Falcons were a mix of disgusted and enraged. “Yes,” Gutaale’s deep baritone seemed to rumble through the whole locker room. His voice was steady, but… exhausted. Saddened. “As I’m sure some of you already know, thanks to the vermin at the gates… four of our players have been detained by the Ministry. It disturbs me to say it, but Johannes, Orion, Kyle and Santiago have all been charged with war crimes. Apparently, we had Death Eaters in our ranks.” Katie boggled. The locker room remained totally silent. No. No fucking way. She had fucking played with Santiago and he wasn’t… he couldn’t have been... she’d seen his arm a million times, he didn’t have the mark. He… fuck, they’d gone drinking together, he’d crashed in her _flat_ dozens of times when he was too plastered to apparate. Oh Merlin, no… “They’ve been taken to Azkaban. We’re on a temporary suspension while the Ministry investigates the rest of us. They’re going to want to prove that we were helping them. So let me be blunt; if you were, you need to be gone by the end of the day. The Ministry will find out if you were collaborating and I can’t guarantee their Aurors will get to you first.” He paused, then inclined his head towards a thick man with a heavy beard. “Gregory here is our point of contact with the Auror’s office. He’ll be conducting the investigations and providing protection for everyone who passes.” “We will all be practicing together from here on out,” Fenrir, their Seeker and Captain, remarked quietly. Fenrir never needed to shout. When he spoke, everyone listened. He was the best damn Seeker in the League in Katie’s opinion, fair to his teammates and utterly brutal when it came to the game. “We’re going to rebuild. Completely. This will not break us. We’re going to get back into the season and we will crush anyone who dares to question our honor.” “All contracts are being renegotiated,” Gutaale intoned. “If you are first string and you get cut, you will be paid for this season and released to the pool. Reserve players who do not make the team will be cut and paid as well.” Well… shit. Katie glanced about the room to gauge her teammate’s reactions. They varied from grim acceptance to outrage and the room erupted in a swell of voices. Katie squeezed her leg. This was her chance. She was going to make the team or fucking die trying.