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Kaithe Dame Member
Vylinius of Varathia
- Last Seen: 7 hrs ago
- Joined: 6 yrs ago
- Posts: 635 (0.27 / day)
- VMs: 2
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Username history
- Kaithe Dame 3 yrs ago
- ██████████ 6 yrs ago
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Status
Recent Statuses
16 days ago
No peace among the Stars.
3
likes
2 mos ago
Biseual Harem RP but all they do is watch Sopranos and then quote the YouTube Poops to each other during sex
5
likes
11 mos ago
'SHINE. It liked that name. S H I N E.'
1
like
2 yrs ago
Deny / Defense / Depose.
8
likes
Bio
I like writing about strange people put into uncomfortable situations that force them to think creatively to overcome them. Brain worms currently include the Yakuza franchise, The Last Sovereign JRPG, Dragon Age, WH40K, Disco Elysium, and True Detective. Writing sample down below.
docs.google.com/document/d/1lqyAAPIJh…
docs.google.com/document/d/1lqyAAPIJh…
Most Recent Posts
Bump.
(Short-term smut plot involving a high-ranking individual being brought to their captor for an involuntold dinner. Functionally AxA regardless of gendered nouns below; it's meant to be some verbal foreplay before mostly consenting sex, details pending.)
Long shadows dance between each tent wall that she passes by.
Demons, perhaps. Or their worshippers. Or more dangerous yet, drunken soldiers who had just experienced the greatest week of their lives. Inebriated as much on victory as on imperial vintage wine, they stumble between pavilions, plucking through the belongings of those whom they had sent flying down the river. Their Shepherd had promised them loot in exchange for battle, and they’d gotten away with their rewards with few even having to draw their weapons.
Betrayal. Sylvan Varain had struck at his royalist allies in nearly the same moment he’d come to their aid, having the moon as the only guide they needed to lead his men into his peers’ camps, knives found throats and before long the entire camp was all but emptied of proper, loyal men and women. Those that stayed, turned, turning torches on every flag bearing the brand of the family they’d followed into war, before long starting a fire that had consumed most of the camp by the time the sun came out to greet them.
That had dampened the mood. Slightly.
Still, three days later and the camp was still in high spirits. Few seemed in a proper enough place to be aware of their two visitor’s presences, and those that could be bothered to acknowledge them didn’t seem keen to disobey their master’s orders.
On their way to Lord Varain’s tent they must have passed hundreds of what used to be ‘their’ men. Colors turned inside out, sharing the same food and drink that littered the floor with mercenary and slave alike. Copper collars were amassed across the floor, some in pyres, some in haphazard and broken pieces across the floor where somebody had taken a mallet to them.
Some eye Molly’s - her handmaiden - collar with the hate one regards a leper. Their pity is almost as noticeable.
A smidge of sanity seems to remain in the inner circle of tents where her father’s pavilion once stood, his goat torn down and replaced with a violet eye. Varain’s colors. Indeed, there was violet everywhere. The color of magic and demons and elves and of the many men and women in his court, apparently. Even here they seemed dressed to impress, courtiers and soldiers stepping in and out of each tent with too much to do to notice either women or offer directions. There didn’t even seem to be a guard posted to keep an eye on them, but it wasn’t like they needed directions. She knew her father’s tent by heart, and when they found it, they found the man they’d been looking for.
He’s no smaller or taller than any other elf she’s met, his dusty, violet eyes peering at them through the thick smell of incense and straight through a goblet of wine he was pretending to drink. A rare sphere of candor in a spiral of chaos, his stitched and well-fit clothes making him particularly odd considering just how completely trashed the room is. Every imperial eagle, one for each legion, had been thrown to the floor or carted off. His throne has been tipped over and probably pissed on, and the bed looked like an ogre had an orgy on it, its mantle torn apart and its silk drapes torn or fallen to the floor.
On the floor? More food and drink. Splints of wood. Blood. On what remains of a table that cost more than half the empire? The semblance of a proper meal, which, to anybody’s shock, smelled magnificent. At the center of it, Lord Varain, smiling invitingly and waving them further inside, his form difficult to properly see through the haze of heat and aroma.
“My ladies!” He greets, calling them with too much happy familiarity. “Apologies. I would’ve had somebody lead you here, but most of my followers are indisposed at the moment - the useless louts.”
Only two chairs were left, and both were close to their host.
Long shadows dance between each tent wall that she passes by.
Demons, perhaps. Or their worshippers. Or more dangerous yet, drunken soldiers who had just experienced the greatest week of their lives. Inebriated as much on victory as on imperial vintage wine, they stumble between pavilions, plucking through the belongings of those whom they had sent flying down the river. Their Shepherd had promised them loot in exchange for battle, and they’d gotten away with their rewards with few even having to draw their weapons.
Betrayal. Sylvan Varain had struck at his royalist allies in nearly the same moment he’d come to their aid, having the moon as the only guide they needed to lead his men into his peers’ camps, knives found throats and before long the entire camp was all but emptied of proper, loyal men and women. Those that stayed, turned, turning torches on every flag bearing the brand of the family they’d followed into war, before long starting a fire that had consumed most of the camp by the time the sun came out to greet them.
That had dampened the mood. Slightly.
Still, three days later and the camp was still in high spirits. Few seemed in a proper enough place to be aware of their two visitor’s presences, and those that could be bothered to acknowledge them didn’t seem keen to disobey their master’s orders.
On their way to Lord Varain’s tent they must have passed hundreds of what used to be ‘their’ men. Colors turned inside out, sharing the same food and drink that littered the floor with mercenary and slave alike. Copper collars were amassed across the floor, some in pyres, some in haphazard and broken pieces across the floor where somebody had taken a mallet to them.
Some eye Molly’s - her handmaiden - collar with the hate one regards a leper. Their pity is almost as noticeable.
A smidge of sanity seems to remain in the inner circle of tents where her father’s pavilion once stood, his goat torn down and replaced with a violet eye. Varain’s colors. Indeed, there was violet everywhere. The color of magic and demons and elves and of the many men and women in his court, apparently. Even here they seemed dressed to impress, courtiers and soldiers stepping in and out of each tent with too much to do to notice either women or offer directions. There didn’t even seem to be a guard posted to keep an eye on them, but it wasn’t like they needed directions. She knew her father’s tent by heart, and when they found it, they found the man they’d been looking for.
He’s no smaller or taller than any other elf she’s met, his dusty, violet eyes peering at them through the thick smell of incense and straight through a goblet of wine he was pretending to drink. A rare sphere of candor in a spiral of chaos, his stitched and well-fit clothes making him particularly odd considering just how completely trashed the room is. Every imperial eagle, one for each legion, had been thrown to the floor or carted off. His throne has been tipped over and probably pissed on, and the bed looked like an ogre had an orgy on it, its mantle torn apart and its silk drapes torn or fallen to the floor.
On the floor? More food and drink. Splints of wood. Blood. On what remains of a table that cost more than half the empire? The semblance of a proper meal, which, to anybody’s shock, smelled magnificent. At the center of it, Lord Varain, smiling invitingly and waving them further inside, his form difficult to properly see through the haze of heat and aroma.
“My ladies!” He greets, calling them with too much happy familiarity. “Apologies. I would’ve had somebody lead you here, but most of my followers are indisposed at the moment - the useless louts.”
Only two chairs were left, and both were close to their host.
Bump.
Bump.
Tada.
Bump.
Bump.
In
Perhaps, the ░░░░ is Hell. [Signalis / Star Wars or WH40K crossbreed.]
→
3 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Interest Checks
This post is looking for a GM. I have posts where I GM in my profile, or, if you just want something that's much kinder and happier.
Trigger warning; mutual albeit toxic love. Violence. Borderline slavery and abuse in the workplace.
It occurs to me a WH40K 'not-quite' crossover would probably also work. Note to self for the future; probably touching on similar grounds albeit on a Hive World and a psyker instead of a Force Sensitive and poking fun at Games Workshop for failing to continue the storyline.
Hey there. For every person that happens to be interested in Signalis and Star Wars whether they know it or not, I've decided to create a mashup of involving my favorite part of Star Wars; episode 2 of season 2 of Visions. In my addled imagination of the way this might come together the story is an strange and 'not-quite-right' view of Star Wars similar to the way Screecher's Ridge presents the Sith Mother; whether or not quite like that or not depending on further workshopping of the prompt. The Force, the politics of the galaxy and its Sith and Jedi; none of them should be normal, and instead experiencing shifts of character and presence that cannot be rationalized. Maybe this world is entirely detached from Star Wars and is just an AU, maybe it's in the delirious mind of the main character, or maybe it's a fun bit of meta commentary on how 'nothing changes' in Star Wars due to corporate creativity rot.
In essence, pulling at that late-game text of Signalis from Andler --
"IT'S LIKE EVERYTHING WAS TAKEN APART AND PUT TOGETHER BY SOMEBODY WHO DOESN'T UNDERSTAND HOW IT WORKS."
This, in theory, frames the entire RP. More than simply giving some love to a piece of love to my new favorite Indie title, it, hopefully, will allow us to explore a whole new series of angles to Star Wars. Probably mildly disturbing ones; all the Yuuzhan Vong fans will probably be raving over all the weird flesh horror they get to do. The main character in my head is a woman like Daal; a Force-gifted working within the confines of an industrial world, toiling away like millions of others with only the dreams of a better life keeping her going. In our version of it however, I'm imagining that they've developed a sickening, obsessive relationship with a childhood friend of theirs, one that further fuels their desire to become a Sith and free themselves from the urban hell of their homeworld . . . and probably slap a slave collar on them.
This should be a toxic relationship. One bent on control and domination and strength, bordering on the edge of sanity in just how impulsive and inescapable all their thoughts are on this person they've fallen in love with. The main character dreams of giving both of them a better life together, but they also dream of doing horrible and unspeakable things to them; whether because they're a broken individual, or because of the Dark Side, or . . .
You probably get the idea, reader. This is a warped love story from the perspective of a deeply insecure, self-hating Sith apprentice who despises herself for not being strong enough to kill their overseers and free their friends; but not for what's supposed to be altruistic, heroic reasons.
They've got a sick mind.
As far as kinks are concerned in this story despite the extremely dark and triggering material up above I don't actually enjoy most extreme fetishes. Complicated emotions, aspects of dominance and submission (sexually and platonically), kissing, sapphic longing and yearning, spankings, collars, contrasts of all kind, 'I want to kiss and hold you but I also want to strangle you but I won't,' orgasm denial and control as well as overstimulation, underdogs 'getting the girl.'
Most vanilla and lukewarm kinks in general. I won't touch anything relating to futa, tentacles, unrealistic or exaggerated anything, toys, animals, my character will not engage in non-con, If you have any extreme kink, it probably goes here.
This post is looking for a GM. If you're looking for a GM, feel free to look at my GM4A posts in my profile. I'm an advanced-novella writer with writing samples that I'll be requesting from my readers as well. IRL gender isn't relevant to this prompt.
I've broad broad concepts for this RP, both of which involve, naturally, VAMPIRES. The two scenarios I've got envisioned in my head are quite polar opposites to one another and involve contrary main characters; an Ulrika-like heroine who travels the breadth of the Old World saving cats from trees, saving Brettonians from walking trees and literacy, saving Emperors from inbreeding, all that jazz. It'd be a very heavily swashbuckling adventure story about saving the world, girls kissing girls, girls biting girls, skaven getting their heads ripped off, all that fun stuff.
In the opposite corner we've got what I'm imagining as a newly risen lady from Sylvania, low on the totem pole and focusing more on the diabolical politicking side of things, focusing on the casual loss of life in Sylvania, the witchhunting, economics, warfare -- this is by far the more 'complicated' of the bunch. I'd expect to see a low-level vampiress wage war with a quill, fang, and the blades of her kin alike. I'm imagining them as a pretty pro-living type of gal, insofar as in a way Settra would view all of his subjects as being equally his property.
Kinks vary between these two, but, the former is a service dominant and the latter is a pretty harsh, cruel sort of domme; no extreme kinks. Emphasis on spankings, kissing, WLW, orgasm denial and control, overstimulation, experienced partners / inexperienced partners, eccentricism, intelligent banter, flirting and foreplay . . . mostly a lot of vanilla and lukewarm stuff. I use Discord for OOC chatter.
I've broad broad concepts for this RP, both of which involve, naturally, VAMPIRES. The two scenarios I've got envisioned in my head are quite polar opposites to one another and involve contrary main characters; an Ulrika-like heroine who travels the breadth of the Old World saving cats from trees, saving Brettonians from walking trees and literacy, saving Emperors from inbreeding, all that jazz. It'd be a very heavily swashbuckling adventure story about saving the world, girls kissing girls, girls biting girls, skaven getting their heads ripped off, all that fun stuff.
In the opposite corner we've got what I'm imagining as a newly risen lady from Sylvania, low on the totem pole and focusing more on the diabolical politicking side of things, focusing on the casual loss of life in Sylvania, the witchhunting, economics, warfare -- this is by far the more 'complicated' of the bunch. I'd expect to see a low-level vampiress wage war with a quill, fang, and the blades of her kin alike. I'm imagining them as a pretty pro-living type of gal, insofar as in a way Settra would view all of his subjects as being equally his property.
Kinks vary between these two, but, the former is a service dominant and the latter is a pretty harsh, cruel sort of domme; no extreme kinks. Emphasis on spankings, kissing, WLW, orgasm denial and control, overstimulation, experienced partners / inexperienced partners, eccentricism, intelligent banter, flirting and foreplay . . . mostly a lot of vanilla and lukewarm stuff. I use Discord for OOC chatter.
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